Protecting the Winchesters
by loverose14
Summary: AU: No Lisa or Ben, Spoilers: Seasons 1-6 (starts in season 6), DISCLAIMER-I don't own supernatural or anything recognizable...After John abandoned Emily, the girl Sam and Dean grew up with, she finally finds her way back to her boys. However, she finds it difficult to hide her secret and protect her boys at the same time. How will they react when her betrayal is finally uncovered?
1. Chapter 1

_When I have nightmares, they weren't normal nightmares of monsters in your closet or under your bed. My nightmares are of the day I lost them…him. My mind keeps taking me back to that one lane dirt road where I saw them for the last time. It surprises me how vivid they still are after all this time._

_You need to understand…I lived next door to the Winchesters until I was two and a half years old – until my life fell apart. I don't remember my mother very well, but my first memory – my only memory of her – is nothing exceptional compared to normal standards. She's lying in bed with me and my older sister when I couldn't sleep. She's telling me a story about angels, and, as I fall asleep, I can feel her stroking my hair. I don't even know if that dream if real; sometimes I think my mind has conceived it for comfort. _

_When I was two and a half, my mother and sister were slaughtered in our living room…I was woken by their screams. As Dean told me (I can't remember it), I ran past the dark figure to my neighbor's house, not knowing what else to do. John had fallen asleep on the couch when I ran in, sobbing gibberish about my mother. Looking over to our house, he could see flames dancing along the walls. As he ran to call the police, Mary's blood-curdling scream filled the house. As I watched the shadows of another fire up the stairs, Dean was suddenly running towards me, holding Sammy in his arms. Yelling something about helping me, he dragged me outside where we piled in the back of his father's impala as John drove off into the night. Ever since then, I've been traveling with the boys and their father…until a few months after my sixteenth birthday._

"Emily," John called sharply just as I reached for the door handle of the impala.

"Sir?" I asked hesitantly, a knot of anxiety slowly growing in my gut, afraid he had found out. He did.

As he advanced toward me, I could see a storm of emotions raging in his eyes. "You need to stay."

I nodded once, heart dropping through my converse. "Yes, sir."

"I need to protect them. I'm sorry." That was the last thing he ever said to me…the last time he ever looked me in the eye. As he turned away and walked around the front of the impala, my eyes dropped to the ground. When the engine started, my head snapped up to meet Dean's confused gaze; he was in the front seat starting out at me through the window. I gave him my best attempt at a smile before looking in the backseat for Sammy. I held up a hand, pretending to knock fists with him; it was our handshake. My eyes locked again with Dean's as the car lurched forward. As they drove away, I saw realization dawn on the boys' faces, but it was too late. I could only watch as Sammy's tear-stained face called out for me out as he banged on the back windshield. They disappeared around a corner, and I was left alone; slowly sinking to my knees, I let the tears fall freely.

_Every night I remember, and every morning I wake up in a panic and cold sweat. Perhaps the scariest moment of my life was when I found Dean's necklace in a trash can in an old motel. I sometimes have nightmares about that, too._

After a frustrating hassle with the desk man, I kicked down the door to their room; a sense of terror struck me like a train as I absorbed the view of the two bloodied hotel beds. Whoever had been lying in these beds the night before was certainly dead now judging by the amount of blood. "Jesus Christ," I choked out, holding on to the door frame for support. That's when I found it; in the trashcan by the door was Dean's necklace from Sam. Suspiciously, there was no blood on it; this left me with two conclusions: it was taken off Dean before he was killed, or he was not dead. Picking it up out of the can, I rubbed it once with my thumb before sinking to the floor, leaning on the door frame. The world was not kind to optimists…I knew they had to be dead. "Dean," I sobbed. "Sammy…DEAN!"

_I thought about suicide that day. After their father left me, I stayed with Bobby, helping him man the phones, until I heard about John's death. Since he was gone, I could finally explain everything; I immediately began tracking them, trying to find them. When I found the necklace, I panicked, thought I had lost them. That was one of my darkest days...I was lying on the hood of my stolen truck in the middle of a field, in the middle of nowhere. The knife Dean had given me for my 16th birthday (two months before I left) in my right hand, I thought about all the people in my life. Bobby would kill me himself if he knew what I was considering; John, however, would tie me to a chair somewhere and, upon making sure I wasn't a shapeshifer or demon, would leave me there until I saw sense. Sammy would give me those huge puppy dog eyes and beg me until he had no breath left. He would probably be crying, too. Then I thought about Dean…I knew he wouldn't say a word. He would lay down next to me on the hood of the car for as long as it would take for me to fall asleep or change my mind. Knowing his negotiating methods, he might say something absurd like he would kill himself after me if I went through with it. He would know that I would never want anything to happen to him, and then I would give him the knife. He would pull me into a tight, warm hug and never let me go. As the thought faded, I realized that my cheeks were wet. If Dean knew what I was doing…_

_As my rational mind slowly took over, I realized that there was a chance they might still be alive. With that small ray of hope, I immediately decided to find them, search the entire world if I had to. And that brings me to today._

* * *

**Hey guys :) **

**I'm up to probably about 7 or so chapters I have written on my computer, but I want to make sure everything is solid before I post them. Lately, I've found myself going back and changing things, adding scenes, so I don't want to post it and then go back and change it, making you read though everything again. So, I'll get there, I promise! Till then, keep coming back :)**

**P.S. COMMENT if you have any ideas. A****ny plot twists, cute scenes, ect. you have an idea about I would LOVE to hear it. (I promise I'll credit the idea to you)**

**Love ya'll -loverose14**


	2. Chapter 2

Stepping out of her stolen truck, Emily pocketed the keys before digging for five dollars in her oversized sweatshirt pocket. The ends were fraying after so many years, but it still held the faint smell of him, and that was worth it. Just before she could turn the corner to her favorite breakfast booth's entrance, strong arms grabbed her from behind, one hand covering her mouth so she couldn't scream for help. Her heart faltered as she was suddenly airborne – the strange man was flying. Remembering what Dean had taught her, she kicked and screamed the whole flight, tempting the beast just to drop her; it would be a better death than whatever she was sure he had in store for her. Soon, the creature was carrying her through sewage tunnels to a small caged area where other girls were being held. He dropped her roughly in the cage, and she thumped painfully to her side, breath momentary stolen. As soon as the creature left, the girls flocked to her, seeing if she was okay.

"I'm fine – I'm fine!" she said, trying to push them away and pull herself up to a sitting position. Leaning against the wiring, she gingerly held her side.

Softly, one of the girls spoke up. "You seem like you've done this before."

Grunting, she said. "Special Agent Gennings. I'm not going to be much good to you in here, though."

"All agents have trackers though, don't they?" the girl asked.

She easily lied, "I was off duty."

The girls left her alone for a while as she thought about what could possibly have taken her. One girl was sobbing quietly into another's shoulder, mumbling all the things she would miss out on if they killed them; among her gibberish, she heard her say, "I'm gonna die a virgin. I had a boyfriend."

"Wait," she said quickly, remembering the gold bracelet the creature took off her ankle; she was grateful Dean's necklace was tucked safely in her shirt. "Were any of you wearing something gold that they took?" The majority of them nodded. "This is an awkward question, but how many of you are virgins?" All the girls tentatively raised their hands.

"What is it?" the outspoken girl asked. "Does he have a type and just…needs money?"

Emily thought this option would be better than the truth. "Yeah, let's go with that."

"What do we have here?" the man above her suddenly appeared as he opened the door to drop another girl in with them. "A hunter?" After the girl had cowered into the corner, he reached in to drag Emily out, nails digging into her shoulder; she couldn't muffle the grunt that was wrenched from her gut as she was thrown to the grating. She had little time to collect herself as the dragon quickly sealed the door once again with his molten hand. "Do you know what we do to virgin hunters, little girl?" he hissed, crouching down to her level. She closed her eyes tightly as if she could close her ears as the dragon's breath made her hair stand on end and his threats turned her legs to jelly. "Did you hear that, girls?" he suddenly roared to the cowering women in the cage. "We're going to make an example out of this one."

A gasp was torn from her throat as he pulled her to her feet by her hair and roughly tied her wrists behind the metal railing with a piece of leather he seemed to procure out of thin air. "Listen, I can explain-Oof!"

Her breath was knocked from her once again as the dragon's fist buried itself in her stomach; as she desperately gasped for air, a second blow hit her rib cage with a dull thump. After several more hits to her chest and abdomen, he finally let up as her hunched over form gasped for breath, body straining against its own arms as if attempting to rip them off. Spitting a mouthful of blood to the floor, she smiled slightly as she grinned up at him with stained teeth and mumbled, "You wanna play rough, fine. That all you got…_tough guy_?"

The blow to her ribs was excruciating as she was sure she heard a crack. Seeming to just arrive at the idea in that moment, his hand began to glow a molten orange. Suddenly, his movements ceased as muffled voices came from down the sewer pipe. "Help!" a brazen girl from the cage immediately screamed. As the footsteps approached, the dragon was suddenly gone, his form streaking upward.

As the girl continued to scream, two men suddenly emerged from the right sewer.

"Emily!" came Sam's roaring voice as his face immediately entered her view. "What the hell?"

"Sammy," she began weakly only to be cut off.

"We're gonna get you out, alright? Dean's here and–"

"Sam, shut up. Listen to me," she ordered, using what resolve she had left to attempt to speak clearly and quickly. "There are two dragons. You need a sword forged i–"

"I know, we've got one. Are you okay?"

She sighed, letting her head rest on his hand which had moved to the side of her face. "I'm fine, Sammy. Get them out."

As she painfully lifted her head to find Dean's eyes, her chest was suddenly very painful, right where her heart was, and she hadn't been hit there. His face plainly showed all his emotions: pain, loss, but mostly surprise. Dean always had a façade, no matter who he was talking to – to have it shatter like this meant something.

Her focus was suddenly drawn to Sam as he moved to open the door; the girls became frantic, shoving each over to get closer to their freedom. As Sam was about to pop open the door, one of dragon grabbed him from behind, throwing him backwards. Dean, knocked back to reality, grabbed the sword – no…half-sword…whatever – and faced off the dragon. She could only watch helplessly as the sword fell through the metal grate; as the second dragon grabbed Dean, another pain shot through her chest. As she screamed his name, straining against the ties, his eyes flashed to meet hers, and something in him snapped as he pounded the dragon's jaw, sending him to the ground. Just as it raised its molten hand toward Dean, Sam appeared seemingly out of nowhere and thrust the broken blade into its back, probably severing its spine. As the first flew off, Sam was immediately back to the cage, forcing the door open. As the girls began to climb out, Dean's rough hands brushed against her wrist as he cut the leather strap. Adrenaline wearing off, her legs buckled against her will as she collapsed into his arms.

"This is too damn clique," she muttered, looking up at him.

With unidentifiable emotions raging through his eyes, he only looked down at her as he quietly replied, "Yeah. I hate chick-flick moments."

"You cut your hair…" she weakly accused.

A slight smile graced his lips as he said, "Yeah…it, uh…got to uncontrollable."

Sammy called to Dean causing him to snap his head up, breaking eye contact. "I'll bring the girls up. Meet me at the car."

With a curt nod, Dean's focus was back on her as he hoisted her legs into his arms to hold her bridal style. "Dean," she immediately protested. "I'm fine – I can walk."

"Not from what I just saw."

"Let me try again." At his resistance, she said firmly, using what strength she had left, "Put. Me. Down." Sighing, he reluctantly placed her back on her feet, but refused to relinquish his hold on her arm. "See?" she smiled slightly; as she turned to look up at him, what happiness she had immediately faded. Dean's eyes were glistening as he stared down at her – her Dean who never cried in front of another living soul. "Dean," she whispered, hand moving up to gently touch his cheek. "What's wrong?"

"I-I…" his voice faltered as his hand immediately covered hers, holding it against his face. "Em, I missed you."

"I missed you too, Dean," she mumbled as a tear suddenly rolled down her cheek. "_Shit_," she immediately turned away to wipe her face dry.

Catching her wrist, he said sharply, unmanly emotions gone, "You're shaking."

"I'm fine, Dean," she insisted; her claim, however, was invalidated when Dean picked lifted her off the floor once again causing a sharp pain to burst in her side. "We're going…_now_." As she watched his determined gaze stare straight ahead, her vision began to fade as everything went black. The last thing she heard was Dean's voice desperately calling out to her as his gait quickened.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Dean," her shaking form sobbed violently. "Sammy…DEAN!"_

Emily jolted awake, attempting to get up only to be held back by a strong arm across her chest. As a large hand softly stroked her hair, she noticed she was in the backseat of the impala; meeting Dean's anxious eyes in the mirror, she realized she must be in Sammy's lap. "You okay?" his voice asked, reverberating through her body as she leaned on him.

Nodding, she quickly wiped stray tears from her face before closing her eyes and turning away from them. "Uh, What happened?" her hoarse voice asked.

"You passed out. We're going to Bobby's," Sam explained. "You fell asleep on me, and you just had a bad dream, 'kay? We're right here."

She nodded again, relaxing slightly into his arms. "How's Bobby doing? I haven't …haven't seen him in a while."

"He's good," Dean said from the front. "Did he, um…did he know where you were after…well–"

"Yeah," she answered, knowing he was referring to the day she left, "for a while."

She let her mind wander as her eyes remained closed until the impala hit the familiar bump of Bobby's driveway. Blinking a few times, she sat up against Sam's arms as he made sure she was okay before getting out. Dean was at her side in an instant, wrapping his arm around her waist leading her into the house. "You still remember where the med supplied are?" he asked. With her nod, he continued, "Grab what we need and go sit on bed in the guest bedroom."

Sammy already had Bobby in a different room as Dean and Emily walked through the front door; with a gentle nudge pointing her to the stairs, Dean left her to find Sam and Bobby. As Emily gathered the supplies upstairs in the bathroom, she could hear shouting downstairs, mostly from Bobby and Dean. She unsuccessfully tried to quiet her mind which was playing out several different scenarios of the conversation below her. Collecting the supplies in her arms, she dumped the pile on the end of the guest bed before moving to untie the fabric from around her waist. Panic raced through her as something touched her hips from behind; she jumped around only to see Dean, hands raised in surrender.

"Sorry," he said quietly. "Didn't know you were jumpy." He awkwardly averted her eyes before moving to the supply pile at the end of the bed.

"Wait," she said, pulling his necklace over her head. "I found your necklace."

Dean's eyes widened as he stared at the golden amulet; after a moment, he said roughly, "Keep it."

"Dean–"

"Please." He turned back to the supply pile and refused to say anything else.

"Alright." Before lying down on the bed, she finished removing the scrap fabric from around her abdomen; he pulled over a chair from a desk on the opposite wall and pulled her hips closer to the edge of the bed. Dean, raising her shirt to just below her chest, set his jaw as he took in the multicolored bruises blossoming across her abdomen. "I'm just gonna wrap this for now, alright? There's no broken skin anywhere."

"Alright," she said quietly.

"We need to talk," he said slowly, reaching for the bandages.

"I know." Her reply was quiet as she removed his sweatshirt so it wouldn't get in his way.

Looking up in shock, Dean asked, "Y-you kept that? All this time?"

"Yeah," was her simple reply as she avoided his gaze. "What…What did John tell you after…after I left?"

Pulling the first end of the across her abdomen, he said, "I didn't mean we need to talk about it now. The _four_ of us need to have a conversation. We've…lift," he ordered, swiftly but tightly wrapping the gauze up her abdomen to her shirt line. Just as her arms began to shake with the effort of supporting herself, Dean's hand was at the small of her back supporting all her weight. "Alright you're good," he said quietly, gently letting her back hit the mattress.

"Thanks," she said quietly, closing her eyes for a second.

"Can you take your arm out of your shirt or do you need me to turn around?" he asked.

"Uh…yeah, turn around for a sec," she said quickly. As soon as his back was turned, she slipped her good arm out before slipping the T-shirt over her head to slide it down her bad arm where the gashes in her shoulder were. She then threw on Dean's old sweatshirt – all but the sleeve of her bad arm – and zipped it up over her chest. "Alright."

"You good?"

"Yeah." When Dean turned back, he was holding an a few towels which he proceeded to spread underneath her shoulder to catch the run-off alcohol. "Ready?" he asked, grabbing the bottle of alcohol from the pile.

With her nod, he placed the unused sleeve of his old sweatshirt in her mouth. Then, with a final look in her eyes to confirm, his hand moved to her chest to keep her still as the clear liquid ran over the three claw marks. Her back arched in agony as an involuntary scream muffled by the sweatshirt ripped itself from her throat. Her eyes squeezed shut and an excruciating pain erupted in her shoulder. "Hang on…you're doing real good," Dean comforted as she felt his free hand dab a cloth over the throbbing area. Then came the sharp, acute stabs of the needle as he stitched. Her eyes shot open a as a third hand began to stroke the hair out of her face; Sammy was sitting on the bed next to her attempting to offer any comfort he could. Trying to focus of Sam through the haze of pain, she lifted a fist in the air; his enormous fist gently bumped hers as they remembered the days where they would do that after every hunt. After the sharp pains had faded to one dull throbbing, Dean finally grabbed the gauze as she spit out the soggy sweatshirt arm; the gauze was gently pressed against her as Sammy handed him the medical tape. "Up," Dean said as Sammy moved to cradle her in his arms so Dean could tape the gauze in place. Energy spent, she had no choice but to relax into Sammy's chest. After he helped lay her back against the pillows, Dean grabbed the antibiotic ointment for several small cuts and bruises around her face.

"You never stop fighting, do you?" Sam's voice rumbled through her.

"Not on your life, Gigantor."

"Seriously?" he whined. "I though you would have at least forgotten that."

"Mm – mn…nope," she mumbled, closing her eyes as Dean's hands gently spread the ointment over the scratches on her face. As his position shifted, a pain suddenly erupted in her wrist where Dean's knee had been pressed. Cursing, Dean immediately jumped away as she pulled her arm up to her chest.

"Em, what's wrong?" he asked, certain level of desperation in his voice.

"I don't know – I…wrist," she gasped. As Dean gently took her hand in his, he noticed she had begun to shake again. Looking over her wrist, he kicked himself for not noticing the large gash running from her thumb to the edge of her wrist.

"Shit," he muttered, reaching for the towels and alcohol. "Em, I gotta do it again, okay?"

She moaned quietly, turning her head to Sam. "'Kay…" she choked out, setting her jaw.

"Here," he said quietly, putting the soggy sweatshirt arm back in her mouth. "You good?" With her nod, he continued, "Sammy, gonna need your help to hold her down."

She felt Sammy shift to reach over her to place his hand just below her chest while Dean's free hand held her forearm. "Ready?"

As she nodded once more, the familiar pain erupted in her wrist burning its way up her arm; as the pain intensified, everything suddenly went black.


	4. Chapter 4

She awoke again to a panic in her chest as the dream faded from her eyes. As she sat up, she heard the door to the garage slam, followed by the muffled voices of Sam, Dean, and Bobby. Hurriedly whipping the tearstains from her cheeks, a need to finally see Bobby arose in her mind; Emily, still dressed in the clothes she was wearing when she passed out, swung her legs over the side of the bed, closing her eyes against the temporary dizzy spell before slowly getting to her feet. With every step, her side throbbed, but she figured it was something she would just need to get used to. Her wrist was bandaged in the same manner as her abdomen, and as she passed the hallway mirror, she saw her sunken eyes and a few cuts and bruises scattered over her face. She thanked her stars that she had lived with Bobby for so many years; she knew exactly where to step going down the stairs so they wouldn't creak. As she entered Bobby's office, she could hear him say something about the paper of a book; "What is it?" Dean immediately asked.

"Human skin," came Bobby's voice.

Fighting the urge to gag, she said quietly, "That's _disgusting_," as she rounded the corner. Bobby immediately jumped up, chair crashing behind him, though he gave no notice. "Hey, Bobby," she said softly, giving him a small smile. His eyes were wide as he just stared at her. "Bobby?" She slowly walked over, past Sam and Dean whose gazes followed her across the room, to stand in front of him, looking up. His 6'1" made her 5'4" look pathetic as he only stared down at her. Suddenly his arms were wrapped tightly around her and her face was pressed in his flannel as the smell of booze and WD40 invaded her nose along with the unidentifiable smell of Bobby. She would have sighed contently as her senses were filled with Bobby because until now, she never realized just how much she missed him…if it wasn't for the searing pain in her shoulder causing her to cry out on pain.

"SHIT!" Bobby cursed, immediately letting her go. "I'm sorry, I-I–"

"Bobby, it's fine – _I'm _fine. It's okay," she consoled, ignoring the throbbing pain that had returned to her shoulder.

Dean's voice was behind her as he confirmed, "You sure?"

"I'm fine. Really."

"How 'you doing, kid?" Bobby asked, panic gone.

She smiled up at him, "I'm good, Bobby…I'm good. How are you?"

His face suddenly contorted in anger. "You got kidnapped by a dragon, clawed in your guts, almost killed, almost got your arm ripped off, and you got the guts to ask _me _if _I'm_ okay? Ya _idjit_!"

"And you love me for it," she smiled.

He hesitated for a moment. "Aw, balls!" Sniffing, he added, "You need a shower, kid."

"Yeah," she laughed, "I know. So…a book of human skin?" she asked, stepping out of the constricting circle of tall men and walking to the kitchen for a glass of water.

"You good?" Dean muttered as she walked past.

She paused and smiled up at him: "I'm good, Dean."

"Yeah, okay, I-I'm fairly clear of this first bit," Bobby began as she reached for a glass, "it basically describes this place – it's like the backside of your worst nightmares. It's all blood and bone, and darkness, filled with the bodies and souls of all things hungry sharp and nasty."

"Kind of like an afterlife for monsters?" Emily asked as she turned on the tap above the glass.

"It's monsterland," Dean said, a concerned look on his face.

Gesturing to the book, Bobby continued, "According to this, it goes by many names, most of which I can't pronounce, but I'm thinking, you know, purgatory."

"Purgatory?!" Dean asked, eyebrows raised. "Awesome. So, you're saying that these dragon freaks were squatting in the sewers and reading tone poetry about purgatory?"

"Oh, no, no, no," Bobby replied, "They're reading an instruction manual."

I came to stand behind Sam as I asked, "Excuse me?" as Dean simultaneously said, "What?"

"Yeah," Bobby confirmed. "If you're nuts enough to want access to a place that gnarly, this book will show you how to open a door."

"A door to purgatory…well, I know a demon who would have loved to know about that," Dean said, sighing.

"What are you taking about?" Emily asked, confused at the reference.

"Later. So, how do you open the door?" Dean asked.

Bobby flipped to the ripped bindings of a missing page. "Ask Cloverfield; I'm pretty sure he's' got that page. It gets worse."

"Worse?" Sam asked incredulously.

"This ain't talking about how to take a vacation over there. This is all about opening a door to let something in."

"Bringing something here?" Sam asked. "What?"

"I'm working on it."

"Could you give us something?" Dean asked from his chair.

"I got a name."

"Okay," Dean said in a better-than-nothing tone.

"Mother."

"Mother? Mother of what, exactly?" Emily asked.

"Of dragons?" Sam asked hopefully.

Bobby sighed, "I wish. It says it a few times here: 'Mother of All.'"

"What the hell does 'Mother of All' mean?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Bobby said honestly.

Emily sighed, taking a sip of her water. "Well, shit."

"I'm gonna read a bit more, see if there's anything else I can get from it. You," he pointed sharply at Emily, "take a shower and relax. Understand?"

"Yeah, Bobby," she grinned. "What've you got in the 'frige?"

"The boys'll make you something. Go shower," he ordered.

Raising her hands in surrender, she gave in, "Okay, okay. I'm going." As she began to walk back up the stairs, she heard Dean say something quickly to the others before his feet stomped up the stairs behind her; she quickly composed herself, hiding the pain in her abdomen with each step, as Dean's face appeared next to her.

"Hey. I figured you'd need help taking the stuff off," he offered. "You know, the bandages and stuff."

"Thanks," she smiled slightly as they reached to second floor. "Uh, Dean?"

"Hm?"

Feeling the slightest of blushes creep to her cheeks, she asked, "Can I borrow some clothes?" At his shocked expression, she quickly added, blush growing, "My shirt ripped – it's stained, my jeans are torn, also stained, and…I don't have anything else with me. I took all the clothes I had here when I left."

"Yeah, yeah," he said quickly. "My go-bag's in the impala – I'll get it while you're in the shower."

"Thanks, Dean," she smiled, following him into the bathroom.

Turning to her, motioned for her to lift her shirt. "Let me get it off."

Lifting her shirt just below her chest, she exposed the wrapping Dean had done the night before. Dean, crouching to her waist level, carefully untied the fabric, letting the end fall to the floor as he unwrapped the rest. "You got a tattoo?" he asked sharply, glancing up at her.

Heart thumping in her chest, she nodded quickly. "Yeah…a while ago."

"How long?" he asked quietly. Having finished unwrapping her abdomen, he caught hold of her bandaged wrist.

"Sixteen."

His head sharply looked up at her as he asked, "Before or after." _Before or after my father drove off?_

"B-before." Heart thudding in her chest, she prayed he couldn't feel her.

"I..." he cleared his throat, putting the bandaged from her wrist on the counter, "I should do you shoulder, too."

'Oh, uh, yeah…probably."

As she turned and began to hesitantly lift the hem of her shirt, Dean's voice made her jump slightly. "I mean, I could have Sammy do it, if you would rather–"

"No," she said a little too quickly. "I mean, Sammy would make it awkward…I-it's not like you haven't done this before," she continued, back still to him. "Remember the werewolf in Michigan?" she asked quietly, pulling good arm out of her condemned shirt before lifting it over her head. Dean's fingers met hers at her shoulder, helping her slide the shirt off her remaining arm. Heart in her throat, she watched from the corner of her eye as Dean, from behind her, carefully pulled the tape off her shoulder revealing three semi-neatly stitched claw marks, bruises forming underneath the area. Almost the entire sheet of gauze he dropped on the counter was stained red with recent blood.

"Dean?" she asked nervously, taking in the image of the gauze.

"Damit, Bobby," she heard him mutter before he said, "Hang on, Emmy." She heard him fumbling for something behind her before a cloth was pressed tightly against her shoulder causing a small cry to escape her lips against her will. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I started to bleed again. Keep pressure on it, okay?"

His hand moved to accommodate hers before he turned away again to rummage through the closet before turning on the facet for a second. "Okay," he said quietly, pulling her hand, along with the original cloth, away from her shoulder to replace it with gentle dabs from the wet one.

"Dean…"she muttered, eyes shut against the sting.

"I know, I know," he muttered as he dabbed it a few more times before the newly bloodied rag appeared in the sink. He immediately took the original back and held it against her shoulder; a slight whine escaped this time as Dean profusely apologized under his breath. "I need to hold it here until the bleeding stops, okay? Then you can take your shower. You're doing good, just hang in there."

After a while, the pain had dulled, and Dean had quieted. Suddenly, he quietly said "Wings."

"What?" she choked, word catching in her mouth.

"Your tattoo. Wings. You alright?" Her tattoo began at her shoulder blades, rising up to fold over shoulders before swooping back down so the last feathers curled around her waist and fanned out across her posterior.

Clearing her throat, she spouted, "Yeah, yeah, fine." Her face had gone bright red, heart pounding roughly against her chest.

"It should be good now," he muttered, pulling the cloth slowly away from her shoulder before tossing it completely in the sink. Somehow, without crossing in front of her, he was able to move to the door; for her privacy, he stared at the ground, had on the doorknob as he said, "I'll got get the clothes, you…just be careful." As he turned to go, she swore she could see a slight blush creeping up his cheeks.

Door closed firmly behind her, she turned on the water and stripped, careful not to use her arm because of her shoulder. She grabbed one of Bobby's overlarge towels from the closet, dropping it on the floor near the curtain before testing the water.

Soon after she got in, there was a knock at the door. "You good?" Dean's voice asked.

"Yeah, come in," she called, thanking God she shower curtain was opaque.

"I got the clothes." His voice was clearer now as she imagined him dropping a pile of clothes on the counter. "I got a T-shirt and a pair of boxers. I-uh," he cleared his throat, "see that you still got a bra…" She felt her face heat up in embarrassment. "I didn't think my jeans would fit you, but the boxers should be okay for now until we can get you some clothes."

"They're, um, in my truck." As she rattled off the address of the fast breakfast joint, she explained, "I keep my go-bag under the driver's seat. Keys are in your sweatshirt pocket."

"Okay, cool," he said as she heard him open the door. "You alright, Em?"

"I'm good, Dean. May need your help wrapping again, though…probably won't be able to pull it tight enough with my shoulder…" her voice faded.

"Yeah, absolutely."

"Thanks, Dean." As she heard him shut the door behind him, she felt her face relax and realized she had tried to put on a brave face for him even when he couldn't see her.


	5. Chapter 5

As she stepped out of the shower, she glanced in the mirror and noted that she looked much better now that the dried blood and dirt had been washed away and her hair was washed. She carefully put her bra back on, but didn't bother with her underwear seeing as how they were dirty and she had Dean's boxers. After slipping those on, she dried her hair in the towel and threw it up, careful not to get Dean's shirt wet. Throwing on the plain, grey T, she winced slightly at the contact stinging her raw shoulder, before walking downstairs, attempting to move the shirt as little as possible for the least amount of friction on the claw marks.

Dean was sitting watching TV with a beer when he saw her come down the stairs; she heard the faintest gasp and breath hitch as Dean's eyes quickly scanned her body in his clothes. Blushing, she turned into the kitchen to find a turkey sandwich on the table.

"Sammy made you a sandwich." Dean's voiced behind her caused her to jump slightly, as she didn't hear him get up.

"I'll tell him thank you," she said quietly, sliding into a chair, pulling the plate close to her. At his offer of beer, she declined, "I don't drink."

"What do you mean, you don't drink?"

"It's gross, Dean. I still like root beer," she admitted, grin spreading across her face.

"A virgin who doesn't drink…where'd I go wrong?" he joked, taking the seat across from her. "Sam and Bobby went to get your truck. I figured I'd stay 'cuz you said you needed help with the bandages."

"You let Sammy drive the impala?!" she asked incredulously.

"On _very_ rare occasions."

Watching her finish off the sandwich, Dean said, "I put all the supplies back in the bathroom closet last night, so it's be easiest just to do it there."

"'kay," she replied, reaching to toss the paper towel in the trash. Sammy was smart; he used a paper towel instead of a plate, knowing how lazy she was.

Emily followed him upstairs and into the bathroom again as he grabbed certain supplies form the closet. "Alright," he began, holding the longest wrap, "can you hold up your shirt?" Like before, she lifted the hem of Dean's shirt just enough so that he could tightly wrap her abdomen; Dean picked up her wince as he wrapped across a certain rib and immediately stopped. "Hold on, what was that?"

"I-I don't know," she said, concern showing on her face.

"How are you breathing?" he asked quickly.

Grunting as Dean's fingers passed over a tender spot, she answered, "Pretty good – I mean, it hurts a bit, but I just figured – _ow_ – that it was from the bruising or something."

"Alright." Dean's hand moved to rest on her hip as he looked up at her. "Take a deep breath." As she inhaled a greater amount of air than usual, a stabbing pain in her side where Dean had been focusing caused her to double over, grasping his shoulder for support. "You alright?"

"I'm good," she gasped, hand jumping from his shoulder to the counter. "What was that?!"

"You broke a rib," he announced as he continued wrapping her stomach.

Confused, she asked, "S-so, what do I do?"

"I'll get you some aspirin for now, then I'll see if we can get Cas…just make sure this wrap stays tight, okay?"

"Alight. What's Cas?" she asked.

"That's who's Cas, and his name is Castiel. He's an angel."

If she had been drinking water, Emily would have spit all over Dean. "An angel?!"

"Yup…long story. I'll tell you later." As he tied it off, she handed him the gauze for her wrist.

Rejecting the gauze, he grabbed a container of ointment. "Nope, this first."

"Oh, come on, Dean–"

"Nope. Hey, I'll be more careful than Dad was," he promised, squeezing her hand once before standing and opening the container. "You know what…sit on the counter."

"Dean, I'm not seven anymore."

Lifting her by her armpits to the cleared counter, he grunted, "Don't care. You're short." At her wince, he checked once again to make sure she was okay. "Hey. Look at me."

"What, Dean?" she grumbled, picking her head up to look him in the eye.

"Em, I'm not my father, and you're not a squirmy seven-year-old who has a low pain tolerance; you got stronger. Now, sit still and won't hurt nearly as much. Okay?"

His words made her smile as she found herself nodding. "Thanks."

"Alright. Wrist up, and don't move," just as he was about to reach for the container again, he added hesitantly, "Y-you can hold on to me if you want."

Slight blush creeping to her face, she tentatively reached out an arm to hold his shoulder, refusing to look him in the eye. As Dean's ointment-covered finger reach toward her wrist, she closed her eyes and subconsciously twitched, which Dean picked up. "I'm right here," he said softly, touching her arm with his forehead. "Okay?" As she nodded, a sharp pain spread across her wrist and she found herself squeezing Dean's shoulder. "You're doing good," he said softly, finger momentarily leaving her wrist before another, duller wave of pain passed through her wrist. Slowly, the pain faded and she was left with a tingling, numb feeling; she could feel Dean push the white gauze against her skin before quickly wrapping it. "See? That wasn't as bad, was it?" he was saying.

"Thanks, Dean," she breathed, opening her eyes to be met with his startling green ones. "You'd think they'd make an ointment that wouldn't sting…kid friendly. Like Johnson and Johnson."

"You gotta learn to trust me again, Emmy," he told her, ignoring her attempt at a joke as he stared at the floor.

"Dean, I–"

"You don't. You did, but…something changed. Not just now, but when you were sixteen. The tattoo…I was supposed to be the one to buy you your first drink, get you your first tattoo if that's what you wanted," he admitted softly. "I was supposed to be with you and Sammy the whole way…what is it, Em?" He finally met her eyes and her heart broke at his distressed expression. "I know this you. This is the you who stole ten bucks from Dad to get Sammy a Christmas present. What are you hiding?"

"Dean," I choked, eyes dropping to the floor. "I…I don't know. But I promise," her eyes snapped back to his, "I promise as soon as I know what…w-what it is, I'll tell you. I promise, Dean."

His eyes searched hers a few seconds more; just as she thought she would snap, he gave up. "Alright," he sighed heavily. "Let's do your shoulder."

Dean's shirt was big enough that she thought she could fit her arm though without hurting her shoulder; as soon as Dean saw what she was attempting to do, he helped pull her arm out so she didn't pull on her shoulder as well as held the fabric open so it wouldn't press into the wound. "Thanks," she muttered, adjusting the shirt do it hung like a one-strap.

Dean didn't respond, but reached for the ointment. "You good?" his towering form asked.

"I'm good." The stinging, burning pain from her wrist flared in her shoulder as she leaned her head back, eyes closed, to rest against the wall. His finger had to return more times than last due to the fact that there were three claw marks instead of one neat gash. She took a breath as the numbness began to take over, opening her eyes to study the focused figure above her.

Noticing, Dean asked, "What?"

"Nothing…I just missed you."

His features seemed to soften as he reached for the gauze, pressing it gently against her shoulder. "I missed you too, Em," his rough voice told her as he taped the edges to her skin. "Alright, arm." They both somehow got her arm inside the shirt without an ounce of resistance from her shoulder.

"Dean," she said quietly as he lifted her off the counter. "You're not the only one."

Putting the remaining supplies back in the closet, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"You're not the only one who doesn't know. I mean, you're not the only one I didn't tell…no one knows. Like I said, I-I don't know," she babbled.

"Emily."

"What?" Her head snapped up as her eyes desperately searched his or any sign of emotion.

"It's alright."

"What?" Her voice was a whisper now.

"It's okay. Sam taught me something a year or two ago…you don't tell, I won't push. I'll be here though, when you're ready. I…I would just like to know eventually." His voice was soft, but it seemed to hit her in the chest harder than any dragon could hit. She ducked her head as a tear escaped and ran down her cheek. "Come on. Cartoons?" he asked, seeming to know that she needed a break.

"Yeah, cartoons."


	6. Chapter 6

"No, Sam, the _four_ of us are going to have this conversation _now. _Emily! Come 'ere!" Dean shouted from the kitchen. It had been about a week since they found her, and her shoulder had begun to heal.

"What, Dean?" When she came into the kitchen, her boys were sitting at the table across from each other while Bobby was at one end; they all wore grave faces, Dean's having a spark of determination thrown in. Hesitantly sitting in the chair across from Bobby, she asked, "Uh, oh…what'd I do?"

"We are having a friendly conversation where everything comes out and everyone knows what the hell happened since we got split up," he said, clearly frustrated.

She looked down at her lap, nodding slowly, before meeting Dean's eyes. "Alright."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance that seemed to say _Well, that was easy_. "Alright. Start around when we…when we got split up," Sammy said.

"If we're going to do this, I have a condition," Emily said, jaw clenched. "We need to start calling it what it was. You father kicked me out – now I'm not blaming him," she added immediately as Sam and Dean both opened their mouths to say something. "I'm not blaming him, understand that. I'm sure he had a-a…_very_ good reason for doing it, okay? But I got kicked out, that's what happened, and we're calling it what it is."

"Fine," Bobby's annoyed voice said. "Let's get on with it."

She nodded, before beginning her story. "After y'all drove away, I didn't really know what to do, so I hitched a ride to Bobby's where I stayed for a year or two helping him man the phones. Then I went out on my own for about four years–"

"Whoa!" Dean interrupted. "You went hunting on your own? And you let her?!" He began to turn his anger towards Bobby; as Bobby began to defend himself, she cut in.

"Dean, I'm a big girl. I can handle myself perfectly well. _Anyway_, I wasn't hunting all that time. I was mainly getting funds for Bobby as a sort of Emergency fund, and if anything happened to be where I was, I ganked it. If I needed reinforcements, I'd call Bobby; he'd send someone. When I heard John…well, died…I came to look for you. I thought maybe…I could come back." As she finished the last part, she stared down at her shoes. Hearing no response form the boys, she continued. "So, I've been trying to find you for a couple years…I went radio silent for a year or two…then one day I stopped for breakfast, and got myself abducted and _voila_! Poof, you show up. You're turn." She crossed her fingers under the table, hoping they would be content with that much.

"Okay. So, long story short," Dean started, "Sammy, me, and Dad got in a car accident, Dad sold his soul for me, Sammy died, I sold my soul for him, Dad got killed when we opened a gate to hell, we ganked the demon that killed our mothers and Sam's girlfriend, we met this English bitch named Bella, Sammy got into some shit with a demon, a demon named Lilith wanted to take control of hell, I died, Castiel, an angel, dragged me out of hell, we met him, turns out Lucifer wants to get out of his cage and Lilith is helping, we got into some shit with the angels, we met a prophet named Chuck who wrote a series of books on us, apparently the angels wanted Lucifer to get free so the apocalypse could happen, Cas decided to help us instead of the angels Ruby, that demon Sam was messing with, was using him, we killed Lilith, Michel wanted me for a vessel, Cas came back to life, Cas lost his virginity, we met a pain-in-the-ass trickster, Sam got genital herpes, the trickster was actually an angel named Gabriel, Ellen and Joe…they, uh, got killed, we met Death, went back in time and met Mom, oh yeah – we had a half-brother who eventually got possessed by Michael, Bobby kissed the king of hell, Lucifer possessed Sam, there's a battle, Sam got locked in the pit with Lucifer, Bobby died and came back, Sam came back soulless, Bobby got his soul back, Death got Sammy's soul back and put up a wall so he wouldn't remember hell, aaannnddd…yeah, now the Mother."

There was a pregnant pause at the table before Emily said quietly, "Sammy…you have herpes? And Bobby, you're gay?" Dean and Emily suddenly erupted in laughter as Sam attempted to defend himself and Bobby stormed out of the room. "Sorry! Sorry," she apologized quickly. "So, um, wow."

"Pretty much. I'm glad we're clear, then," Dean gave a smirk.

"I don't have herpes," Sam said pitifully.

"'Course you don't. If it wasn't for me, you'd still be a virgin," Dean laughed.

"And what's wrong with being a virgin?" Emily asked, one eyebrow raised. Dean began to sputter, trying desperately to materialize some kind of excuse. "That's what I thought."

As she walked up the stairs, Dean called after her: "Hey! Where 'you going?"

"To change my bandages, STD Man!"

"Hey! Sam's the one with genital herpes!"

"I DON'T HAVE HERPES!" Sam roared.

"FINE!" Emily and Dean called at the same time, Dean running up the stairs after her.

"Le'me help," he said, following her into the bathroom as she got the supplies.

Turning around, she smirked evilly, "And what makes you think this virgin isn't capable of changing her own bandages now, hm?"

"Hey, come on, you know that's not what I meant," he whined.

"Dean."

"What?!"

"I'm playing you," she smiled, pulling up the bottom of her shirt.

He sighed heavily, starting to untie her bandage. "Have I ever told you how much I really don't like you?"

As they went through the same ordeal they had after her shower the other day, she smiled slightly up at him, and said "Thanks, Dean,"

"For what, the torture?" he joked.

As she handed him the piece of gauze, she said, "Seriously, Dean. Thanks."

He said nothing, but continued the ritual with her wrist before getting to his feet. "Anytime. I swear."

* * *

_She jumped as she felt hands on her hips again; this time, they refused to let her turn 'round. "'Just me," Dean's gravelly voice said as his breath tickled the back of her neck. "We need to talk…the two of us. I know what you did the night you found my necklace."_

_"Dean–"_

_"Shut up." He suddenly spun her around and his lips crashed against hers in a passionate kiss, taking her breath away. As she tried to breathe past their intertwined lips, the scene morphed into Dean's young, devastated face mouthing her name through the car window. As Sammy banged his fists against the rear window, she sank to the ground, sobbing their names._

_The scene began to replay over and over as Dean started at her through the dirty window of the impala; he called out for her over and over again as terror and realization spread across his face. His eyes began to glisten as they stared at each other, desperately trying to saying goodbye without words. She had to watch them drive away again and again and again…_

_"DEAN!"_

Her eyes shot open as she struggled against the strong arm holding her down; she vaguely felt a hand gently brushing the hair out of her face as she gasped for breath. "I got you, princess," he crooned in her ear. He was lying on the bed next to her; her hands grasped at his arm as fresh tears streamed down her face. Hearing someone quietly speaking in the doorway, she immediately buried her face in Dean's T-shirt. "I got you." She was mortified as she heard two sets of footsteps leave the doorframe and travel down the stairs; she couldn't hide this anymore. As she forced the sobs back, she became more aware of her surroundings. Dean was holding her tightly in his arms, and they were both lying on the guest bed.

As she gently pulled her head away from him, she noticed it was dark out. "S-sorry," she hiccupped, refusing to look him in the eye.

"No," he said forcefully. "Don't…don't apologize for this."

She sighed, closing her eyes as she rested her forehead on his chest. "They saw, didn't they?"

"Yeah." No one spoke for a moment as she desperately tried to come up with an excuse. _Wait._

"Dean."

"Hmm?" His head moved to rest atop hers.

"You called me princess."

"I–"

_She was seven years old when Dean called her princess in front of a boy. Furious, as soon as they were alone, she said, "Don't call me that in front of people! It's babyish!"_

_"Sorry, Emmy, I–"_

_"Just don't do it! It's stupid."_

_"Fine. I'll only call you that when nobody's around…cuz you are a princess."_

_"Yes I am," she said haughtily, holding her head high._

_Smirking, Dean added, "And for the record, I don't mind that you call me Hercules in public."_

"I did didn't I?"

"Yeah," she smiled into his shirt.

"Emmy, what's going on? Hmm?" his voiced rumbled through her. When she didn't reply, he asked, "How long have you been having nightmares?"

After a moment, she admitted, "Since we got split up." She could immediately feel him tense as he processed this information. "It's alright, Dean, really…"

"No. No, it's not alright. Something's wrong and I need to fix it. I need to know what happened since you were sixteen. I need to know _everything_, Em."

"You can't fix it, Dean. Nothing just goes away. Believe me…I've tried."

"What does that mean, 'you tried'?"

"Dean, I'm tired," she said suddenly, avoiding the conversation. "Can I just…"

"Yeah," he said, moving to get up before she grabbed ahold of his wrist.

"Wait…will you–" he voice faltered, "will you stay?" As she finally looked him in the eyes, she could see his resolve crumble as his façade dropped once more and she was able to see the true Dean, the closet cuddler she grew up with.

Sighing, he laid back down next to her, wrapping his arms about her again. "Of course I'll stay, princess. Of course."

"Thank you, Hercules."


	7. Chapter 7

"Dean, please!" she shouted, running out to the impala after him.

"No, Emily. You're not in fighting shape yet. I promise we'll be back in a few cases, alright?" he attempted to console her. As she opened her mouth, he cut her off – "And you will stay here, not do any heavy lifting, change the bandages, and I will be back soon. Promise."

"You're infuriating!" she screamed, storming back into Bobby's house, letting him leave.

"She's never been good with goodbyes, has she?" Sam said from across the car.

Dean sighed, "No, not really."

"Come on. Let's go before you change your mind."

* * *

"Come on, Bobby, please. I need to get out of the house," she whined.

"There ain't no way, kid," he said stubbornly, grabbing an old book off one of his shelves.

"It's just a supply run!"

"No! I'm going on the supply run at 3:00 – ALONE. They boys would have my head – I'd have my own head – if anything were to happen to you."

"I'm not a kid anymore, Bobby, come on!"

"NO!"

Cursing, she spun on her heel and stormed out into the garage, being sure to slam the door with extra ferocity before collapsing against her truck. This is what the couple weeks since Sam and Dean left had consisted of: senseless bickering, Bobby's helicopter parenting, her sense of uselessness, and her wanderlust exploding out of control with no outlet. Sighing, she pulled out her phone to call Dean before she spotted Bobby's looming figure in the window. With a frustrated growl, she shoved the phone back in her pocket and grabbed a wrench.

* * *

Some time later, as she was working on her a custom EMF meter, she suddenly heard the engine of Bobby's car roaring to life. Checking her phone, she realized it was three o'clock. With a sigh of relief, she dialed Dean's number as the rumble of the engine faded into the distance.

"Hang on, putting you on speaker."

"Hey," Emily's voice was quiet as she relaxed at the sound of Dean's voice. "Whatcha doing?"

"Got a case with a girl and her haunted kidney, you?"

"Bobby is driving me nuts– I don't know what to do. Dean, I can't do anything without him looming over my shoulder. Honestly, the only reason I can talk to you in peace is because he just went of a milk run," she ranted. "I don't know what to do with myself. Since you've been gone, I've made probably fifty silver bullets, hacked I don't know how many people, and I'm working on a custom EMF meter. He won't let me out of the house."

"Holy shit," Sam cursed.

"Yes, holy _mother_ of shit!"

He couldn't help smiling at her language. "We'll be back after this one, okay, princess?"

"Hurry up? I can't stand it anymore."

"Always."

* * *

"Got it!" she called, walking back triumphantly with the elusive wrench held high.

"Thaaank you!" Dean bent over the engine of his baby again as he put everything back in place.

"How's she doing?" Emily asked.

Grunting as he tightened something, he said, "As good as you can expect for being hijacked by a ghost."

"I'm glad she's not worse, though…" Dean grunted his agreement from the depths of the engine. "Root beer?" she offered.

"No, I'll take a real beer," he chuckled. As she turned from the garage cooler, she caught the sight of Dean's figure bent over the impala's engine, shirt riding up slightly showing the tiniest bit of skin above his jeans. "Em, you still here?" his voice snapped her wandering thoughts back to reality.

"Yeah…yeah, right here. Got it," she answered, knocking the beer against his leg. "Thanks for coming back, Dean."

Taking a gulp of beer, Dean grinned, "Anytime you need me, darlin', got it?"

She smiled up at him before a sight from the house caused her to groan, "Very discreetly, look over my shoulder to the window. See him?" Bobby's face was poking out through the curtains, watching her and Dean. "See what I had to deal with, Dean?! He treats me like I'm the cure for cancer!"

"Chill, it's okay. I'll talk to him. He's just doing what he thinks is right." Seeing that her features were still troubled, he added, "Hey…remember that time Sam ran away on my watch?" Dean asked.

"Yeah…" Dean had been panicking, freaking out until his father came back; he caught holy hell for that.

"That's what happened to Bobby. You took off on his watch and he feels guilty," he explained.

"Well, shit." Her eyebrows furrowed as she suddenly felt guilty for Bobby's feelings, having seen Dean in this situation once before.

"Just go easy on him, that's all."

"Alright."

"Hey!" Sam called from the door, startling her. "Hurry up, we've got a hit on the Mother."

As Emily turned to walk inside, Dean gently stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Emmy, how've you been sleeping?"

"I'm good, Dean. Don't worry about me," she smiled. "Come on." She heard him pause before following her into the house. He didn't believe her, but he wasn't pushing it.

Bobby debriefed them on a string of supernatural activity traveling down I-80 leading toward a religious and virtuous man who brutally murdered his family. "Let's go," she said immediately.

"Whoa. You're still not healed yet," Dena protested.

"Dean, I swear to God, I'm fine," she fought back.

Bobby interrupted, "Kids! We're all going – we're going to need all the help we can get."

"Bobby–"

"We're all going, Dean. Besides, the closer you are to me," he nodded toward her, "the better I can keep an eye on you."

* * *

She listened to the poor man's story with an almost unreadable look of discomfort on her face. He had picked up Mother on his truck route, and evidently she did something to him which caused him to lose his mind and murder his family. She couldn't help but feel for the poor guy – he had done nothing wrong.

Back in the precinct, Sam pulled up the CCTV footage of the truck stop where it showed a teenage girl in a white dress confront the driver, then get in the passenger seat of the truck. Sam paused it as she looked at the camera, showing that her face was distorted with what seemed to be an overlapping image of a deformed skull. "Okay – well if that _is_ big mamma, whoever she is, we got zero on ganking her," Dean said, moving in front of the table. "So what are go gonna do if we run into her – throw salt and hope?"

"No," Bobby explained, "we're gonna turn tail and run, because we're in over our heads."

"I mean, we better get some real info on this bitch before we run into her," said Dean.

Suddenly, the entire precinct was suddenly in motion, moving towards the door. When Bobby asked, one of the officers explained, "A guy just went postal down at the cannery."

"Okay, I'll go. You three finish here," Bobby ordered the tree of us, following the officer out.

After a while, Sam muttered, "If there was any way we could get this on a flash without the computer detecting…"

"I got it, Sam," Emily said confidently, moving to stand behind him.

Shocked, Sam looked up at her. "Since when can you do computers?"

"Don't worry, I'll still let you be the computer nerd – I'll just handle the big stuff," she teased, commandeering his chair.

"I just know the big stuff, anyway," she muttered, a flash drive materializing from her pocket to be discreetly plugged into the machine which automatically pulled up the command list for the computer. She immediately began typing before asking for Sam's flash. Minimizing the commands, she dragged the required file to the flash before swiftly pulling it out. With a few more lines of code, the computer began to restart. "We're good," she smirked, standing up. Dean was staring, shocked, at her while Sam was gave her this look like he was either wanted to get on his knees and worship her…or kill her. "That all you need?" she blushed slightly.

"Uh…yup," Dean said, beginning to come to his senses.

"Okaaayy…this one's yours," she said, handing Sammy his flash while she pocketed hers. Emily began to walk out, knowing the boys would exchange a WTF glance before following suit. "I'll teach you if you want, Sammy," she said, getting in the backseat. "I mean, I don't have the patience for the research, but I can get through security."

Dean's phone began to ring just as he pulled out of the driveway; "Yeah?...Alright," putting the phone in the cup holder, he explained, "Bobby met up with Rufus and they're examining the body. Tonight we're going to the cannery, so…any ideas? Pie?"


	8. Chapter 8

The trio arrived at the cannery before Bobby and Rufus, and, as they walked to the trunk, Emily asked Dean what weapons would be necessary.

"Let's prepare for anything, 'cause we really have no idea…let's try…guns. Grab a few of the silver bullets you did the other day." Sam handed her a pistol before grabbing his own and a flashlight. As headlights lit up the trunk, the three turned to see Rufus's car make its way up the driveway.

"Honestly, Bobby," the two were arguing as they stepped out of the car, "I don't even know how you have a driver's license."

Dean smiled, walking up to the tan car, "Well, look what the cat dragged in."

"It really is good to see you, Rufus," Sam said, shaking his hand.

"I can't believe it…it must get old dealing with this miserable cuss here all by yourself," Rufus joked, gesturing to Bobby.

"Is it that obvious?" Sam asked, laughing.

Annoyed, Bobby grunted, "Why don't you three get a room?"

"Emily!" Rufus smiled, turning her way.

Stepping forward into a hug, she said, "Yeah, long time no see."

"You know Rufus?" Sam exclaimed, taken aback.

"I set 'em up for a case or two," Bobby said, nodding.

Cutting to the point, Dean interrupted, "All right, everyone ready? Let's go."

As we walked in, Dean was first, then Bobby, Sam and I side by side, and Rufus brought up the rear. I unconsciously leaned back against Sam as we took the ominous red elevator down a few floors; I only noticed what I was doing when, at a lurch of the elevator, Sam's arm wrapped around my waist to steady me. I found myself gravitating toward him again as a clang suddenly echoed through the halls; guns drawn, Sam and Dean faced down the door as it swung open to reveal a woman in her mid-thirties with black hair.

"Gwen?!" Dean asked, clearly confused.

Just as bewildered, she answered, "Dean."

Suddenly, a man rounded a corner behind the grate door and, upon seeing us, immediately drew his gun. Something in her instinctively knew he was bad – wrong evil, whatever word you want to use – even before he drew his gun. Bursting through the door, Dean walked straight forward, gun to the man's head, saying "Welcome to next time."

"No, no, no – Hold on!" Sam called, pulling him back.

"I said I'd kill him!"

"Look, just a second!"

There was a pregnant silence as everyone in the room stared at the three of them; she had never seen Dean like this, and, frankly, it scared her. Soon, Rufus broke the awkward silence saying, "I take it you two know each other…"

"He's our grandfather," Dean spat, never taking his eyes off the man. _Whoa._

"Oh. Somebody needs a hug," Rufus joked, attempting to lighten the tension.

Stone-faced, Bobby asked gravely, "Why are you here?"

"We're working. You?" the man responded.

Dean shouted, "None of your damn business!"

"Sam, Emily, take Dean for a walk," Bobby ordered.

"You gotta be kidding me–"

Sam was immediately there to calm him down. "Look, Dean, it's fine."

"Emily?" the man asked, interest perked. "You're Emily? Sam's told me so much about you."

As he took as step toward her, Dean exploded, jumping towards him, before Sam had to physically drag him out into the hall. "Emily, go," Bobby said, not even sparing her a glance. With one last look at their grandfather, she walked out to her boys, and she could feel his eyes on her the entire way to the door.

"You don't remember what he did – I do!" Dean was shouting as she walked through the doors.

"I know! I'm not saying don't I'm saying not yet," Sam explained.

Seeing her, Dean was immediately standing in front of her, holding her face in his hands. "If he so much as looks at you wrong, you're gonna tell me, understand?"

"Dean–" Sammy protested.

"Alright.," I immediately cut him off. "If you don't trust him, I don't trust him."

"Good." Deans' hands left her face as he began to walk away. "I need to take a walk."

As she moved to follow him, Sam caught ahold of her waist. "Let him walk it off; he needs to do that sometimes."

"But–"

"Come on. He'll be fine, alright?"

Something felt wrong, leaving Dean alone, but she trusted Sam and, sighing, followed him back into the room.

"So, you're Samuel," said Bobby.

"And you must be the guy pretending to be their father," Samuel shot back.

Bobby replied, "Well somebody ought to."

Turning his attention to Sam, he said, "Sam. You're looking well."

"Save the small talk, alright?" he said sharply.

"You seem different," Samuel squinted.

"I got my soul back. No thanks to you, I hear."

"You hear? You don't remember."

"I remember enough."

Attempting to break up the fight before it erupted, Rufus interrupted, "I, uh, really hate to break up this little circle of love, but why don't we talk shop, huh? How about you tell us what it is you're hunting."

Hesitating, Samuel finally explained, "A creature from purgatory. She calls herself Eve."

"Eve?" Sam asked, confused.

"Yup. They call her mother. She was here about ten thousand years ago. Every freak that walks the face of the Earth can be traced back to her…and she's back."

"How the hell do you know all that?" Bobby asked, skeptical.

"You don't know half the things I know, kid." _Kid?!_ As a smile spread across Bobby's face, Samuel continued, "Hell, until recently, you didn't even know about us."

"I now know that you'd throw your own kin to hungry ghouls. I think I know enough." As Bobby accused the man in front of her, Emily glanced up at Sam for confirmation; he only glared stonily at his grandfather.

"You what?" Gwen asked, surprised look on her face.

"Dean lied to the man," he said immediately.

"Dean wouldn't lie to us, not to Bobby," Emily defended him. Almost instantly, his eyes were locked on to hers, pinning her to the spot; noticing, Sam pulled her, discreetly but forcefully, behind his back.

"How about you go ask Dean?" Bobby suggested to Gwen.

With one more glance to Samuel, Gwen began to walk out. "Good idea."

"Way to pollute her mind, Bobby," Samuel spat after he was sure Gwen had gone.

"Oh!" Bobby exploded. "I'm not the one who would rat out my own flash and blood – that's low! She deserves to know who she's traveling with."

Suddenly, there was a gunshot in the hallway as an immediate sense of guilt flooded her mind. Following Sam out, they found Gwen's gasping body on the concrete, blood seeping from a bullet wound on her chest. As Rufus and Bobby began to perform CPR, her heart raced as her eyes frantically searched the dark halls for Dean.

Bobby's words of, "She's gone," pulled her back to the scene before her. "I'm sorry…if you even care."

"Screw you I care!" Samuel burst, although his almost passive face told a different story.

Rufus asked Sam, "Where's Dean?"

"I couldn't find him," he said, slightly out of breath. "Whatever got into those guys must have got into Dean."

"Rufus, help Samuel move her somewhere. These two and I will lock down here. We're gonna want to find Dean before he finds us," Bobby ordered, coming to stand in front of the two.

"We're going to find him alive, Samuel…or I'm gonna put a bullet in your head," Sam warned, voiced dropping an octave, if that was even possible. Eyes flashing to hers, Sam gave one last look at his grandfather before following Bobby through the concrete hallways.


	9. Chapter 9

As the three of them patrolled the building, Bobby and Emily tossed Sam locks as he clipped them over door handles and the like. Then, following Sam and Bobby, she took the rear, gun drawn, as they searched for Dean. After a while, a rustle made the three of them jump as she spun around to see…just a rat.

"Sammy," she began hesitantly.

"Hmm?"

"Does Dean keep his phone on silent?"

With an adoring look, Sam breathed, "Ohh, you're brilliant." Pulling out his phone, he scrolled down to Dean's number.

"Dean, put that damn thing down!" came Rufus's voice from down the hall. They immediately began to sprint towards the voice (Bobby attempting to keep up); as they entered a small room sectioned off with plastic strips, they saw Samuel and Dean in a Mexican standoff.

"Okay, both of you–" Bobby began.

"Both of us my ass!" Rufus exclaimed.

"I'm not in the mood!" Dean roared. "I just had a twelve inch …_herpe_ crawl out of my ear."

"What?" Sam asked, shocked and disgusted at the same time.

Sounding violated, Dean affirmed, "You heard me. I just woke up on the ground just in time to see this-this…_worm_ thing…sliding out of my freaking ear and into that vent. So you tell _me_ what the hell is going on!"

"You killed Gwen," Samuel immediately stated, no emotion on his face. "That's what's going on.

She watched disbelief cross Dean's face before he said, "W-We were just talking out in the hallway – that's the last thing I remember. That thing must have jumped me."

"So…" Bobby began, confused, "we're talking about, like, a monster that gets in you?"

"It's like a Khan worm on steroids!" Dean exclaimed.

"You mean like a parasite, something that took over your body," Sam reasoned.

Dean nodded his understanding. "Worm crawls in you, worm crawls out."

"Monster possession?" Rufus asked skeptically. "That's novel."

As the backbiter she was finding him to be, Samuel proposed "Or that thing's still in you and we can't trust a word you're saying."

"It's not!" Dean's face tensed as his gun was once again trained on his grandfather.

"Check your ear," came Bobby's voice.

"Wha'do mean, check my ear? Check my ear for what?" As he was speaking, Rufus snuck up on him and shoved a finger in Dean's dear. "Hey – wha? Why don't you buy me a drink first," he muttered, possessively rubbing his ear.

"Second date," Rufus muttered a replied, examining his finger. "Oh yeah, we're goo positive."

"What does that mean – What does that mean?!" Dean panicked.

"That means it was in you, all right," Rufus explained.

"Or it still is."

"It's not in me!"

"You know what?" Emily exploded. "Shut your mouth, Samuel. You're not helping the situation. If you don't have anything useful, shut your goddamn mouth." Her jaw locked as she stared up at him, anger flashing in her eyes. Sam was standing on the opposite side of him; she could tell he was worried even though she never took her eyes off his grandfather.

"Okay," Bobby cut in. "Everybody, give up your guns."

Samuel's focus was suddenly off her as he exclaimed, "What?"

"Think about this for a second, Bobby," Rufus warned.

"I'm thinking we don't know who is and who ain't got the damn Khan worm up inside his melon."

"IT'S NOT IN ME!"

"I didn't say it was. Point is, we don't know who it is," Bobby calmly explained. "Could be any one of us. So the best we can do…is to make it that much harder for that thing _to blow our fool heads off_!"

As an act of trust, Bobby was the first to drop his gun in the bag. She dropped mine immediately after Dean, then came Rufus and Sam.

"You waiting for a handwritten invite, Campbell?" Rufus prodded. Samuel was standing there, gun in hand, having a serious contemplation about dropping the gun. Staring Dean down, he slowly, with what looked like a great effort, dropped his gun into the bag. The group followed Bobby into the break room where he sealed the guns in a locker; "Okay," he said. "We need some time to breathe, make a plan."

"A plan?" Samuel asked sarcastically. "Based on…" As he advanced, Dean protectively pulled her against him.

"I'm gonna make a few phone calls," Bobby explained, oblivious to the tension between the brothers and their grandfather, "see if anybody ever heard of anything like this."

Rufus, not thinking of that himself, commented, "Hmm, Dittio. Got a few trees I can shake…"

* * *

Emily was sprawled across the table where Sam and Dean were both sitting, staring at the ceiling, as Dean stared icily over her legs at Samuel. She tried to ignore this, as it went on for quite a while. Suddenly, Sam's chair was pushed back as he jumped up, blocking her as Samuel came over.

Sitting up, she heard him explain, "Relax – bathroom break. So unless you want to hold it for me…"

With an absent-minded pat to her leg and a soft "Stay here," Dean stood up and began to tail Samuel with Sam following closely behind. As Rufus and Bobby got into a conversation, she snuck out the door, closing it quietly behind her, hoping they wouldn't notice.

She hid around the corner behind the lockers as she listened to the bathroom door slam, a pause, then Samuel's voice saying, "What?"

"I'm just wondering how you sleep at night," Dean began.

"Like a baby, thanks for asking."

"You _fed_ us to Crowley," Dean accused as she slowly peaked my head out from behind the locker.

There was a slight pause. "True, but what am I gonna to do about it now? Do I blame you for wanting to kill me? Of course not, Dean. What I did was–" Samuel's eyes locked on to hers as he paused, expression of pure hatred growing on his face. "But I'm not apologizing," he hissed, eyes snapping back to Dean. "I did what I did, I don't cry over spilled blood."

As she pulled her head back out of sight, she heard Sam ask, "So you really can go on, like…"

"Just because you're Dr. Jekyll at the moment doesn't mean you can get all high and mighty – don't forget we spend a year together," Samuel spat.

"Yeah, we did," Sam admitted. "We're blood, and you still sold me out."

"Trust me, what I did, pales in comparison to what you did, and on more than one occasion."

"Alright," Sam said confidently. "Tell me what I did."

"Sammy–" Dean began to warn him.

Focus shifting again to Dean, Samuel said, "For one thing, you told me about her, Sammy...told me you'd thought about it once, but she's more of a sister to you. See, I'm not sure that was true."

"Samuel, I swear to God." Dean's voice had dropped to a deadly whisper.

Seeing that it was getting to him, Samuel continued, "Oh, Dean, if I was thirty years younger, the things I would do to her…the things I could even do now…might do now…" Panic raced through her as she stood, frozen in fear, pinned against the lockers; her mind cried out to Dean as it came up with a million and one scenarios, but her body refused to cooperate. Emily tried to tell herself he was only saying these things because he saw her – it wasn't true. She knew the lie wasn't true, and her chest grew tight as she squeezed her eyes shut, breath faltering with fear.

"ENOUGH! The only reason you're alive right now is because we're working a job – the _minute_ we kill this thing, you're next. And if you so much as _look_ at her wrong, I will blow your brains out right then and there, _understand_?"

"Okay, then," Samuel chuckled. "We'll just see."

She heard the faint click of a gun cocking before the sound of struggling against the lockers; then the gun went off. Suddenly, her mind clicked that the boys were in danger, and her body burst out from behind the lockers as she saw Samuel run off. Sam glanced gravely at me before running off after Dean who was chasing Samuel.

"We heard a shot!" Bobby exclaimed as we ran past.

"It's in Samuel!" Dean shouted as he tore past.

She followed Sam and Dean for a short distance before they decided to go get the guns; whirling around, Dean grabbed her shoulders and looked intently into her eyes. "How long were you standing there?"

"Dean, I was just coming to get y–"

"Just–…don't lie to me. How long were you listening?" he asked, voice low.

"A bit," she admitted, jaw set. As he cocked his head slightly and took a breath, she told him quietly, "Since he came out of the bathroom."

Sighing, Dean dropped his gaze to the floor before he looked at her with a new ferocity. "Damn it, I told you to stay put!"

"Dean," came Sam's soft voice from behind her, causing Dean to close his eyes and take a breath, attempting to calm himself down.

"Listen to me." When his eyes opened, they struck her as being the most brilliant green she had ever seen. "He's not going to get close to you as long as we're around, got it? No one touches you unless they get through me, and that's not going to happen. Understand?"

"Yeah, Dean," she said softly, giving him a small smile, blinking back tears that suddenly threatened to make her look like a blubbering baby.

"C'mere," he rumbled, pulling her into a hug. As her senses were taken over by the smell of leather and something uniquely Dean (probably the pie), her heart slowed and she felt calmer than she had in a while.

"Now let's go kill the SOB, huh?" she asked, voiced muffled by his shirt.

Remembering they were on a job, Dean pulled away and stroked her hair once before walking toward the break room.


	10. Chapter 10

"We lost him," Dean announced as he barged in. Bobby and Rufus had already gotten their guns out.

As the three grabbed theirs, Sam asked, "So what's the plan?"

"We stick together," Dean immediately replied, glancing Emily's way. "We got to keep track of this thing – who it's in."

While they walked through the dark factory, Sam suddenly grabbed Dean, shoving him back into Bobby and Rufus. As everyone drew their guns, Sam held up his hands in surrender: "Hold on. Look." He slowly pointed to the tripwire running across the hall at shin-height leading up to a gasoline booby-trap.

"I'll be damned," Bobby muttered, looking up; the five carefully stepped over the string and continued on.

As the electricity buzzed and blinked off, she began to have slight qualms in her gut…something wasn't right. Suddenly, a large, sliding metal door slammed shut behind Sam, cutting him off from the group.

"Sam!" she screamed as they all ran to the door.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered, trying to open the door. "Sam!"

Sammy's voice called back, "Dean! I'm gonna go around, okay?"

"All right. Watch yourself!" Dean warned. "Alright, come on." With distracted caress against her lower back, Dean moved to lead the group, navigating the halls to meet up with Sammy. As they walked, Emily felt the same sense of foreboding she had when she left Dean alone…something was going to happen. As a single gunshot echoed through the halls, her heart faltered as an image of Sam lying motionless on a concrete floor invaded her mind. Dean immediately sprinted ahead, calling out to his brother.

As they rounded the corner, an immense weight was lifted from her chest as she saw Sam standing and his grandfather dead on the floor. "Oh, thank God," Bobby voiced her thoughts walking to Sam before his mind went back to the case. "Drop the gun, Sam."

Sam slowly placed his gun on the floor as the four carefully looked on; however, the feeling Emily had in her gut when Dean was possessed wasn't present – she knew Sam was fine. "It's me," Sam breathed.

"Okaaay," Rufus said slowly. "That's great, Sam. Just gotta cuff you, uh, till we can be sure, okay?" He carefully pulled out a plastic tie and proceeded to lock Sam's hands behind his back.

"Rufus, you don't have to–"

"Just to be safe, Em," Bobby cut her off, not taking his eyes off Sam.

"It's in him," Sam explained.

Bobby said slowly, "You sure?"

"Did you see anything come out of him after he dropped?" Rufus eyed him skeptically.

When Sammy couldn't answer, Bobby said, "Alright…let's take Samuel back and see if we can find anything.

Dean, Bobby, and Rufus moved to carry the body back while she walked alongside Sam, Dean refusing to let her help carry his grandfather.

"What if it _is_ in me?" Sam asked, eyes wide.

"It's not, Sammy," she said firmly as she matched his gait.

"How do you know?"

"I just do. I…" she faltered, trying to explain. "Call it intuition, because I really have no idea how." Seeing that this did not comfort him, she continued, "Sammy. It's not in you, I swear."

There was a loud thump ahead of them from the three men dropping Samuel's body on the table in the break room. The two quickly joined the group standing around his boy as Bobby dug for goo. "Tell me you got something," Dean said expectantly as Bobby removed the stick from the dead man's ear.

"Nothing."

"What?" Sam asked, slight look of fear on his face. "S-so you mean he wasn't a monster when I ganked him?"

"Wait a minute – just hold on. We never got to examine someone's ear when the parasite was in them, maybe it only leaves goo when it comes out," she said quickly.

"Well," Rufus began, "one way to find out. Bobby, you got a cranial saw in the car?"

"Of course," Bobby scoffed.

"You're not going alone," Dean said immediately.

Rufus began to push Bobby out the door, saying, "Oh no, he won't. We'll both go grab some tools and wee about getting some power in this place." Spinning around, he continued. "And I want you and you…okay, I want you and you to watch her and him…all right, if anything crawls out of anybody, somebody step on it!"

"Sam will watch Samuel, I'll watch Sam, and Dean'll watch me," Emily explained.

"Yeah…right," Rufus muttered, leaving with Bobby.

After a few moments of silence between the tree of them, Dean said, "You did the right thing, you know."

"You mean you think I did…if it's in him and I'm me."

"It not in you, Sam," she said, annoyed, from her seat on an empty table.

"Fine, but…even through all he put us through…it feels wrong. I mean, Dean…what would Mom say?" Her head shot up as she watched Sam approach Dean; they never talk about their mother.

"You know what I think Mom would say? Just cuz you're blood doesn't make you family. You gotta earn that. She's family," he nodded my way while staring Sam. "He wasn't."

Her heart stopped in her chest and she was sure she had died when Dean, after his short speech, looked straight at her. His piercing green eyes stared into hers and for a moment she was convinced he knew everything she had done since John left her on the side of that road, everything she thought about, everything she felt. In an instant, the connection was gone as the lights flicked on and Dean's gaze left hers. Taking a breath, she closed her eyed for a moment, trying to compose herself as Bobby and Rufus burst through the doors.

"Well then…let's play operation," Rufus said, taking the saw out of a burlap bag.

"You boys wanna take a breather?" Bobby asked.

"We're good," Dean immediately said.

Bobby ordered, "We're about to crack open your grandfather's grapefruit. Take a breather."

"Come on," she said quietly, leading the boys into the hallway. "Dean." He had stopped to look back through the window.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm coming…"

"You alright, Hercules?" she asked softly.

Dean's head immediately snapped to face her as a small smile graced his features. "You always know what to say, princess." His voice was low as he moved to wrap his arms around her. "How's your shoulder?" his voice reverberated through her body.

"I'm fine, Dean," her muffled voice said though his shirt.

"Emmy," Sam said from behind her.

"Gigantor?" she asked, turning to him, Dean's arm still wrapped around her waist.

Gazing adoringly down at her, he said, "Dean's not very good at expressing his feelings, so he probably hasn't told you, but we've missed you. It's good to have you back."

"Thanks, Sammy. I, uh…I missed you guys too," she smiled, leaning back against Dean. Without warning her body went rigid as dread tightened her chest.

"What?" Dean asked immediately.

"Something's wrong."

A sudden thud resounded from the break room as Dean left her and ran to the door. "He's alive?!" she screeched as Samuel's face appeared, snarling, in the window. "Sammy, you shot him in the head!"

"It's the thing!" Dean roared, cutting Sam's restraints. They could only watch in horror as Samuel first knocked out Rufus then Bobby before falling against the wall socket and electrocuting himself. "Get back," Dean ordered, pushing her out of the way so he and Sam could simultaneously kick open the door. _God, that was hot_.

As her boys revived the two older men, she hung by the door, too nervous to approach the group, sense of dread still present in her chest. "This can't be my afterlife cuz the four of you are here," she vaguely heard Rufus say.

"When we left he was dead on the table," Sam said.

"Yeah…till he wasn't," Bobby stated the obvious.

"So," Rufus asked, "how'd he get double dead?"

Dean quickly explained, "Bobby threw him against that – I guess it was a live wire. It shorted…and he went ape. Then that _thing_ crawled out of his ear."

"At least we know what tickles it…electricity." Once again, Bobby with the obvious.

"Yeah…now the question is, where'd it go?"

As their debate faded from her ears, Dean was suddenly in front of her, snapping her back to reality. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said to quickly. "I just…s-something's still not right," she tried to explain. "I feel like something's gonna happen…" she explained, nervously biting her lip.

"Hey, hey. Listen to me," he said, pulling up her chin so she was looking at his green eyes. "I'm right here, alight? I got your back, always do."

"I know, Dean," she smiled slightly.

"Good." With a light kiss to the top of her head, he led her back to the group.

"Okay, then…check for goo," Sam was saying. At his words, the five of us stuck our fingers in our ears; no one had anything.

"Maybe it's just gone," Bobby suggested.

"No. It might've wised up and covered it's trail," Dean said, glancing wearily on the ground.

Sam, with a determined look, said, "Alright, let's settle this. One hundred percent."

"How?" Dean stared him down.

"Electricity."

"Aw, shit," she whined, rubbing her arms.

Sam, with a heavy sigh, stripped the wire from Bobby's saw and disconnected the machine. "You're live," came Dean's voice as he plugged in the wire. Sam experimentally touched the wire to a metal chair, sending sparks everywhere which caused her to flinch and bump into Dean. His arm instinctively wrapped around her waist as they both regarded Sammy. Before any of them went, Sam touched the wire to the back of Samuel's neck causing the dead man's muscles to spasm, but nothing crawled out his ears.

"Alright," Sammy said. "Who wants to go first?"

"Alright," Dean spoke up when no one else would.

Sam looked at him skeptically. "You sure?"

"Hurry up before I start thinki–" Sam pressed the wire to Dean's skin causing him to grunt in pain as his eyes squeezed shut. "Son of a bitch," she muttered, pulling his jacket back on once Sam took back the wire. "Here, want me to–"

Sam cut off Dean put quickly pressing the wire to his own arm before turning his gaze to Emily. "Aw, fuck," she muttered under her breath, pulling up her sleeve. She held on to Dean's arm as she thrust her own arm out toward Sam.

"Em–"

"Just do it." A searing pain burst through her arm as she could feel her muscles jumping under her skin; she was sure she left a bruise on Dean's arm. "_Shit_," she breathed as she turned away, needing to walk it off a bit. "You good?" Dean's rough voiced asked as his arm caught her hip.

"Wonderful." She let out a breath as Dean grabbed the wire from Sam.

As Dean advanced toward Rufus, the older man began to spurt, "Whoa, whoa, whoawhoa…uh, no, I'm sorry."

"No passes, Rufus," Dean said sharply, waving the wire.

"Come on, I got a damn pacemaker!"

"Well you better hope it's a good one."

"Since when'd you get a pacemaker?" Bobby asked curiously.

As the two bickered back and forth, she asked Sam softly, "You good, Gigantor?"

"I'm good, shortcake," he smiled down at me. "You?"

"Good."

"Come on, just make it quick," Rufus was saying to Dean. As the live wire pressed against his skin, he cursed.

After removing the wire, Dean asked, "You okay?"

"No, I'm not okay!" he exploded. "Give me that!" Rufus snatched the wire from Dean before turning to Bobby.

"My turn. Well, it ain't inside me, so go right ahead," Bobby began cockily, even though he was backing up.

"Alright, well just stand still, Bobby; we'll make this quick," Rufus advanced.

"Alright, sure. No problem."

"Let's do this."

"Uh, just a second, Rufus."

Rufus's eyebrows creased as he said, "Just a second, nothing, whatever you are."

"I'm Bobby."

"Bobby my ass."

As Rufus reached out with the wire, Bobby suddenly plunged a knife deep in Rufus's chest. "Bobby," someone shouted as Sam caught Rufus mid-fall.

"Bobby," Sam's voice said as they cornered him. "There's two of us and one of you." As Bobby moved to attack Sam, he caught and spun him around so Dean could knock him out.

"Sammy, put him in the chair," Dean ordered, wheeling around to find some tape. Snapping out of whatever sort of trance she was in, she grabbed the tape and tossed it to Dean who immediately began to tie Bobby to the chair.


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey guys :) I'm so sorry, I couldn't write the scene where Bobby realizes Rufus is dead; it was too much... So, no, you're not skipping a chapter, I just jumped a bit.**

_DEAN! Don't leave me here alone!_

As her nightmare faded, she realized Dean had been shaking her awake, his form above her. "Dean?!" she gasped, hands grabbing for his shirt collar.

"I'm right here, right here," he muttered.

Immediately pulling him close, she closed her eyes desperately attempting to calm herself. Drinking in the scent of Dean's cologne, she then noticed she was in the backseat of the impala with him. Her breathing slowed at the feel of his thumb drawing patterns on the back of her head as he cradled it in his hand. She ran through her mind what had happened the past few days, attempting to ground herself. _Mother bad, Rufus dead, Bobby okay, hunting with Winchesters, Bobby depressed alcoholic (possibly because of Rufus), need to help._

"I'm good," she croaked; eyes blinking open, she saw a man she didn't recognize standing outside the impala staring at her. He was slightly shorter than Dean with black hair, blue eyes, and a khaki trench coat.

Hastily wiping her face, she asked, "Dean, w-who's that?"

"Castiel, our angel," he answered, backing out of the car, leaving her to sit up and compose herself. "You sure you're good?" his rough voice asked from the door.

"Fine." She took deep breath and climbed out of the car after him.

Castiel eyed her warily as she approached, glancing once at Dean. She, however, had no feeling in her gut about him…nothing. "Em, this is Castiel. Cas…Emily," Sam carefully introduced, sensing the tension from Castiel.

"And I suppose you have a reason for traveling with her?" he asked coldly.

She cocked her head slightly, eyebrows furrowed as she tried to understand what put him off about her. "A damn good one," Dean stated, stepping forward.

"Fine." With a sudden flapping sound, the angel was gone, leaving Emily staring, confused, at the spot he had just occupied while Sam and Dean exchanged glances over her head.

"Sorry, Em…" Sam started slowly. "He's not usually–"

"– a dick," Dean finished, turning toward Bobby's garage.

She sighed heavily as Dean turned to the house, giving some excuse about researching the mother. "I don't understand," Sammy began, coming to stand by her. "Castiel's usually decently nice…"

"It's alright, Sammy…he'll just need to get used to me," she grinned slightly, attempting to hide her confusion.

"Emily!" Dean called from the door. "I'm gonna need some help."

"Coming," she yelled, smiling briefly at Sam before following his older brother inside. "Whadda need?" she asked Dean, shadowing him upstairs.

"Grab your laptop," he ordered, walking into the guest bedroom where a pile of old books were stacked on the bed near the pillows.

Quickly plugging in her laptop which had been stashed under the bed, she asked Dean, who had moved to sit cross-legged on the bed, "Want me to hack?"

"No," he began slowly as she sat across from him, slightly caving the mattress. "We need to talk."

Looking up at him from her screen, she carefully asked, "About what?"

"It's been a week or two now," he said, carefully phrasing his words, "and I need you to start sharing things. It doesn't need to be all at once or anything chick flick, but I…I need to know what happened. To you. When…" his eyes dropped to the pile of books as he continued, "when I wasn't there."

Nodding, she began to fidget with her hands. "Well, for starters…I, uh, met a guy?" she confessed nervously.

"Met a guy?" She saw something flash in Dean's eyes for the briefest of seconds.

"Lucas Fuller. He taught me to hack. Got me through some shit…look, Bobby doesn't know, okay? He'd flip on me." At Dean's silent consent, she continued, "I, um, thought there might've been something…you know…_between u_s 'till some shit went down, and I decided to bail. He wouldn't let me, and…I, uh…well, I had to kill him." She glanced up at Dean's stoic face, trying to gauge his reaction.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked, controlled ferocity in his eyes.

"Tried." She blinked.

Dean's jaw flexed. "Anything supernatural, or was he a class-A dick?"

"A-a bit of both," she sighed. "He was the one I stayed with when I went AWOL. Eventually, I found his stash…he was a hunter. So I packed up and decided to leave. He stopped me, said he was retired…but you can't get out of this job, Dean," she met his eyes, "I know you can't. I doesn't work that way. I told him so, and he, uh…came at me. I had your knife on me, and, well…poof."

As she felt a rebel tear sting her eye, Dean's hand was suddenly on her leg, thumb brushing her jeans. "Sorry," she muttered, hastily typing something on the keyboard.

"Hey." The simple word caused to look up sharply at him which began an unfortunate series of events. As she looked into his eyes, she noticed they were glistening; this caused that mutinous tear to slip from down her cheek. "Cmere," he muttered, holding out his arms. Pushing the laptop off her lap, she crawled over to him; he pulled her into her lap, cradling her like a wounded child. She hated it. "Em?" He knew.

"I hate it, Dean," she muttered. "I hate…feeling like a kid. I hate feeling _vulnerable_. I can take care of myself, but…Dean, I…I missed you so much. I hate…Dean, I hate it," she sobbed quietly into his shirt, arms around his neck. He rubbed her back attempting to give any comfort he could. She hated that she couldn't tell him.

"You know," Dean began quietly, "sometimes it helps to talk about it. The nightmares."

"Dean, I don't…"

"I know you don't want to talk about it, okay? But me and Sammy were reading online, and we think it might be PTSD," he said, continuing to stroke her hair.

"PTSD? I wasn't in a war, Dean."

"I know, but it fits: mood swings, nightmares, becoming detached, feeling jumpy…and…I need to feel like I can help you. Go get Sam. I want to do this together."

* * *

**This chapter was a bit of a skip, sorry. I couldn't bring myself to write the scene with Bobby standing over his best friend's grave...**

**-love ya'll, loverose14**


	12. Chapter 12

She way lying in the grass (well, weeds) of Bobby's backyard on a picnic blanket, Sam on her left and Dean on her right, both laying on their sides facing her. Dean had filled Sam in on their conversation, and he was egger to help her. _Once we do this, there's no going back_, she thought. _What if they don't like who I've become…_

"Okay," Sam began quietly. "As crazy as it sounds, we think reliving it might help."

"What?!" she gasped, attempting to get up only to have the boys pull her back down.

"We're gonna be right here, okay?" Dean said. "You need to understand that we're not going anywhere."

She closed her eyes and desperately attempted to regulate her breathing and slow her heartbeat. "Dean," she attempted to tell him calmly, "I can't."

"Yes you can," he firmly replied. "Keep your eyes closed. We're right here?"

She felt Sammy grab her hand. "Go back there. The four of us are in Kansas. Do you remember what we just hunted?"

"I can't go bath there, Sammy," she pleaded, shaking her head.

"For us, Em, please. We'll be right here. I'm not going to get you go." As she tried to normalize her breathing again, Sam gently repeated the question, "Emmy, what did we hunt."

"Demon," she choked, swallowing hard.

"Good," Sam crooned. "Walk us through it. What did it smell like? Was there a breeze?"

"Sammy, you were there," she protested.

"It's part of the process," Dean said taking her other hand. "You gotta work with us, here."

She took a deep breath, eyes still closed, and began quietly, "Sorry. It was, uh, hot, no wind. I was in my sleeveless flannel and shorts. I…I still smelled the sulfur from inside the barn."

"Good, great. Now what were we doing?" Sam asked, guiding her along.

"The four of us were walking to the car…I was in between you two. You were shoving me like a Ping-Pong ball," she said, faintest of smiles gracing her lips.

"Then what?" Sam asked quietly.

"Dean got in the front seat, and you got in the back…you walked around to the street side because my side was always behind Dean. I wanted to go, too, but John told me to hang back," she muttered, heart rate increasing slightly. She snapped the rubber band around her wrist once.

"Keep going," she heard Sam say faintly.

"H-he said, 'You need to stay.' A-and he walked around t-to the front of the impala," her voice had begun to tremble and Dean's thumb drew circles on her hand, trying to calm her down. "I, uh…I took a step back from the curb, and…and I looked at you, Dean…y-you hadn't put it all together yet." She took a gulp of air, trying to continue for them. "Then I looked in the, uh, the backseat at Sammy, and – No!" she shot up into a sitting position, gasping for air, repeatedly snapping the elastic band. "I'm sorry, I can't – I can't do it," she sobbed, wrapping her arms around her knees.

"I got you, I got you, princess," Dean's voice was in her ear as his arms wrapped around her. "I'm not leaving…never again. **I promise**."

"Em," Sam's hand was on her shoulder, "I know you can do this, come on."

"Sam–" Dean started.

"Let me do this, Dean." Sam began to rub her shoulder. "Em," he said much more quietly than when he had been talking to Dean, "come on. Just a bit more."

"You drove off, Sammy, that's it," she said stubbornly, looking up at him.

"Close your eyes, Em. Work with me. I know you can do better than that."

She nodded, squeezing her eyes closed and leaning into Dean, who let Sam take the lead. Taking a ragged breath, she attempted to continue. "John started the car," she hiccupped, "and then Dean knew what was going on. H-he looked at me…" she buried her face into Dean's arm, taking a deep breath. "And I said goodbye." There was a long pause with no one urging her on when she could take a breath, calm herself, and find the courage to continue. "Then I said goodbye to you, Sammy, a-as John drove off, and…God, I didn't move from that curb for a good four hours, hoping…somehow, that you'd come back," she muttered, tears soaking Dean's sleeve. She couldn't look at them; the rubber band snapped again.

Softly, Sam's question broke the silence. "Do you know why he drove away?" She could only nod, lump in her throat. "Come on, Em. We're right here."

"I can't–"

"Emmy, what's so bad that you can't tell us?" Sam asked, truly concerned. "I mean, we've killed people."

"I can't," she pleaded desperately. "Please, don't make me…not yet. I can't," she repeated, burrowing her face in Dean's shirt. Snap.

"Sam," Dean's rough voice warned, vibrating through her body. "It's too much right now. She need to rest, and I need to change her bandages."

"Fine," Sam reluctantly agreed.

She relaxed against Dean's chest. "Y-you won't leave?"

"Never again. I promised you."


	13. Chapter 13

"Dean? How do y–oh! Uh…hi." Castiel was standing in the middle of the garage, mannerisms suddenly cold at her presence. He refused to acknowledge her words, only continued to stare at her.

"Whadda need?" Dean asked, dropping a dirty wrench on the floor. He was wearing his grease-monkey shirt, and he was slightly disheveled.

"Just wondering about the frequency for your EMF. I was fiddling with it," she said, handing the device over.

"Okay, right. Look. See this?" He quickly explained the use of a small knob on the side of the devise and how it influenced the frequencies. Concluding with, "Just make sure your reset this after you're done," he handed the device back to her.

"Cool, thanks. I'll, uh…let you get back to your angel," she grinned uncomfortably, turning to leave.

"Hold up!" To her surprise, he then turned to his Castiel. "Can you do me a favor Cas? She broke her rib a while back, and I'm not sure it's completely healed."

"No, Dean, I'm f–"

"Nope, get over here." She did not turn to run inside, but she did not move toward him either. "Can you help Cas?"

"I can."

"Dean– "

"Get over here."

Jaw set, she slowly walked over to him and faced Castiel, still several feet away. "It's important to me that you two get along because, obviously, neither one of you are going anywhere, got it? So man up and work it out."

She glanced up at him, slight grin on her face. "You sounded a bit like John."

"Yeah?" she swore she saw his chest puff out just the slightest as an unreadable look crossed his face.

She nodded, turning back to the angel who had begrudgingly taken a few steps forward. "Cas," Dean prodded when he would not move.

With a heavy sigh, the angel raised his right hand to her head, and she involuntarily flinched. As his fingers connected to her forehead, the constant dull pain that had she frequently had to shove to the back of her head was gone and her shoulder no longer ached. She glancing up at Dean, incredulous look on her face; he only grinned. "Thanks, Castiel," she smiled at him only to receive a cold stare in reply. Her eyebrows furrowed once again, attempting to figure out just what his problem was with her.

"Go inside. I need to talk to him," Dean whispered in her ear with an absent minded squeeze.

Nodding, she walked inside with one last glance at Castiel whose focus was now on Dean. If they hadn't started talking before she closed the door to the garage, she probably wouldn't have done it…

"Cas, come on. What's your problem with her?" Dean asked, slightly annoyed. Ear to the crack in the door, she listened for his response.

"I do not understand why you chose to travel with her."

"Because she's family, Cas. Like you're family now. And I'm not having one or the other – it's both, so we gotta work this out." That was the second time Dean called her family.

"She is putting you in more danger than I believe you realize," Castiel's reply was sharp.

"I don't care."

"Do you even know what she is, Dean?"

"I do Cas, and that's family. Like I said."

"Dean–"

"What are we doing?" Sam's voice was suddenly above her head, causing her to jump.

"Jesus, Sam! Nothing, just, uh, checking to see where the bugs have been getting in," she lied.

"Sure."

"Yeah! I, uh, I found a ladybug in my room the other day."

"Right. Go on." He was giving her time to run.

"Hate you," she stuck her tongue out, running upstairs as she heard him open the garage door. Cursing, she jumped on the bad and pulled out her laptop, desperately opening a hack she had started the other day, attempting to look busy.

Soon, Dean was at the door. "What the hell?"

"What?"

"Why do you never listen to me?"

"I came inside, Dean, like you said. Look, I'm working," she gestured to her laptop.

Sighing, he walked around to the other side of the bed. After quickly ensuring that Dean's head was turned, she stuck her tongue out at Sam again, who had been standing behind Dean. The bed suddenly caved, causing her to turn to Dean. "How long," has she opened her mouth, he quickly added, "Just tell me this time."

"Till Sammy busted me. You…you were talking about family."

"He wouldn't tell me." He flopped down on the bed, closing his eyes; she glanced at Sam who shut the door. "What're you doing?" she asked as he put her laptop on the floor.

"Picking up the conversation where we left off," Dean answered.

"No–"

"Yes, come on. Scoot." Sam sat next to her so she was once again squished between the two.

"Lay down," Dean said, opening his eyes.

"De–" His arm was suddenly over her chest, pulling her back into the mattress. However, once she was lying down, it didn't move from its position. Sighing, she consented. "What?"

"I want to go through it again," Sam said slowly.

"Can we not–"

"We're going to. Deal with it," Dean grunted pulling her closer to him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Getting comfy."

"Ignore him," came Sam's voice. "He's being an ass."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"Morons," she smiled. Dean's grip tightened as he snuggled closer. "What's wrong with you today?"

"Nothing's wrong with me," his muffled voice said defensively.

"Emmy, I want you to start again, but add more detail this time," Sam gently instructed, pulling them back to the task at hand.

"I don't want to, Sammy," she whined, tilting her head to look up at him. The elastic band snapped against her wrist.

"Come on, Em, please. Listen, you need to start being honest with yourself and being honest with us. That way, we can figure out what the problem is and fix it," Sam calmly explained. She sighed, closing her eyes and relaxing against Dean. "Is that a yes?"

"Hurry up, before I change my mind," she muttered. The band snapped.

"Go back to when Dad confronted you by the car," he said quickly, taking her threat seriously. "I want to know what you were thinking, everything, how you felt, your emotions."

"I'm not telling you everything, Sammy, okay? Some things…I'm not ready yet."

"Alight."

"You guys were in the car," she began again, "and when I was about open the door, he just said 'You need to stay.' I, uh…" she frowned as she snapped the rubber band again, "I nodded and took a step back away from the car. Like I said, Dean didn't quite know what was going on. I saw this look of…confusion, probably, on his face before I looked back at you, Sammy." Dean began to rub her hand, knowing this was where she fell apart before. "Y-you had this look on your face, like…like you expected me to jump in the backseat with you any second. Then John started the car. I, um…" she snapped the band and took a breath, "I looked back at Dean…he had figured it out." Dean's grip tightened around her waist…._Sammy_," she gasped, reaching out for him, rubber band forgotten.

"I'm right here," he soothed, taking her hand. "You're doing good. Just a bit more."

She swallowed. "Dean's face…" she paused.

"We're right here," Sam murmured, stroking stray hairs out of her face, making sure her eyes were still closed. "Go on…Dean's face."

"He was scared, Sammy," she choked. "I'd never seen him that scared before." Dean's grip further constricted her as she felt something wet hit the back of her neck. "And I couldn't tear my eyes away from him…because when he's scared…Sammy, it makes me scared." She bit her lip, drawing blood, before taking a deep breath. "And then, uh…you, in the backseat, figured it out…you were fifteen years old, but you threw a fit. And…I didn't want to go." She laid there, silent tears slipping down her cheeks

She felt Sammy shift and opened her eyes to meet his glistening eyes. "Sammy," she breathed, pulling him in close for a group hug among the three of them, Dean's wet face buried in the back of her neck. "Sorry," she muttered.

"Don't," Dean's voice rumbled through her.

"Yeah. Don't apologize for something like this; it's not your fault," Sam said, much more articulately than his brother had.

"Thank you guys," she mumbled, cuddling between the two brothers.


	14. Chapter 14

"It's here, somewhere, I know it," Sam sighed, clearly frustrated. The four had fruitlessly been searching for an hour in the boy's grandfather's old haunt, hoping to find his hidden hunter research. "Help me move this."

Sam and Bobby pushed an old oak desk into the corner of the stuffy room before Sam dropped to all fours searching the floor. "Sam?" I asked, slightly concerned for his mental wellbeing.

"Got it…got it," he grunted, pulling up a strip of leather which opened a trapdoor underneath where Samuel would have sat at his desk.

"I'll be damned," Bobby muttered, exchanging a look with Dean.

The ladder led to a dingy cellar-type room with old bookshelves lining the walls and filing cabinets to her left; in size, the room was about ten feet long and twenty-ish feet wide. "Welcome to the Campbell family library," Sam said sarcastically as her feet touched the floor.

"So," Dean said, staring at old photographs taped to the wall, "Samuel collected all this stuff, huh?"

"Apparently," Sam responded, looking around.

"Alright…so, what are we looking for exactly?" Dean asked.

"Well, anything that'll put a run in octomom's stockings," Bobby explained. "Pick a row."

Sighing, Emily picked a stack of books and sat down at the cheap, metal table; Dean quickly sat down next to her. About ten minutes into their study session, she swung her legs into Dean's lap, reclining against the arm of her chair. "Hey!" he exclaimed, holding up his book.

"What?" she asked innocently before looking down at her book.

Dean sighed heavily, returning to his book; a small grin spread across her lips.

What seemed like hours later, Bobby asked, "You jokers ever heard anything about a phoenix?"

"River, Joaquin, or the giant flaming bird?" Dean asked, grinning. She and Sam exchanged a knowing look.

"It says here," Bobby continued, "that the ashes of a phoenix can burn the mother."

"Great. Where do we get one?" Dean asked.

Bobby shrugged. "You got me. I thought it was a myth."

"Yeah, well…let's see if we can find anything about a phoenix," Sam said, a sense of finality to his voice.

Reluctantly, Emily lifted her legs so Dean could get more books. "Bring me some?" she requested.

"Get up and get 'em yourself," he grunted, pulling a few off a shelf.

"But I'm so comfortable," she moaned, stretching her legs over his chair. "_Please_." Sighing, he dropped a second pile of books in front of her. "_YES!_ Thank you, Dean," she grinned, saying the last bit in a sing-song voice and picked up a new volume.

He grunted a reply, thudding down in his chair, picking up one of his own books. "Guys! Check this out!" he exclaimed suddenly, sitting up strait. "March 5, 1861. Sunrise, Wyoming. Gun killed a phoenix today. Left a pile of smoldering ash."

"Really?" Sam asked skeptically. "Whose gun?"

Smug grin on his face, Dean replied, "Colt's."

"Colt?" Sam asked, surprised. "Colt, like–"

"Like the Colt," Dean supplied. "From…" he held up the book, "Samuel Colt's Journal."

"What?! That's his?" Sam asked incredulously. "Dude, no."

"Dude yes."

"Lemme see!" Sam and Emily said simultaneously.

Dean eyes the two warily, pulling the book to his chest. "Get your own!"

"Well, what else did he say about the phoenix?" Bobby asked. "What's it look like? Has it got feathers?"

"It just says phoenix."

"So I guess we gotta find one of our own, whatever it is."

"I know where we can find one," Dean said, cocky grin spreading across his face.

"Well, spit it out," she urged.

"March 5, 1861. Sunrise, Wyoming. We'll Star Trek 4 this bitch."

"I only watched Deep Space 9," Bobby grunted.

"It's like I don't even know you guys anymore," Dean said, hurt look in his eyes.

"Seriously though," Emily cut in. "Star Trek 4, Save the Whales?"

"Thank you!" Dean exclaimed while Bobby and Sam exchanged confused glances. "Okay," Dean explained. "We hop back in time, find Samuel Colt, hunt the phoenix, and then we haul the ashes back home with us."

"Time travel," Bobby said skeptically. "That's a reasonable plan?"

"We got a guy who can swing it."

"Castiel," she said, earning strange looks from her three companions.

"How do you know?" Sam asked.

"I, uh…met an angel or two. Doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter?" Dean exclaimed. "What were their names?"

"Dean, it doesn't matter," she insisted. "Can you drop it?"

"Just call Cas," Sam butted in.

"Right." She tried not to notice the faint glare in Dean's cheeks as he stood up and closed his eyes. "Castiel. The, uh, fate of the world is in the balance…so, come on down here." When he didn't show, Dean continued, "Come on, Cas. I Dream of Jeannie your ass down here pronto. Please." With a sudden rush of feathers, a woman was standing in the corner of the room. "Jeannie?" Dean asked hesitantly.

"Rachel," she corrected. "I understand you need some assistance. How can I help you?"

"Well, uh," Dean raised his eyebrows, "we kind of need to talk to the Big Kahuna."

"I'm here on Castiel's behalf."

"Where's he?" Sam asked.

"Busy," she snapped.

"Busy?"

"Yes."

"Well," Dean continued, "we've got a line on the mother of freaking everything, so–"

"I'm sure your issue is very important," I raised my eyebrows at Sam, "but Castiel is currently commanding an army, so–"

"So we get stuck with Miss Moneypenny."

"So you need to learn your place."

"Look, I don't know who you _think_ you are–" Dean began.

"I'm his friend."

"What, you think we're not?" Sam asked.

"I think you call him when you need something," she glared. "We're fighting a war."

"We get that–" Sam started.

"Clearly, you don't, or you wouldn't call him every time you stub your toe, you petty, _entitled _little pieces of–" I stood up, pushing my chair back, ready to slam her head through a wall.

"Rachel." Castiel was suddenly standing behind her. "That's enough."

"I told you I'd take care of this," she said gently.

"It's alright, you can go," he dismissed.

"You're staying–"

"Go. I'll come when I can." With an angry flap of wings, she was gone.

"Friend of yours?" Dean asked, gesturing to where she had been.

"Yes. She's, uh, my lieutenant. She's…committed to the cause. Now, what do you need?"

As Dean explained their situation, she sat down again, folding her arms across her chest and reclining in the chair. Dean, picking up on her discomfort, placed a hand on her shoulder as he continued to show Castiel the journal. "I can do that," Castiel stated after he had heard their situation.

"Good! Em and I'll go get supplies, and you can ride back with Sam and Bobby."


	15. Chapter 15

"Dean, you can't be serious."

"What?" he asked innocently, holding up a floor length dress that proofed out after the waistline to a layered skirt.

"Dean, I'm not wearing that," she refused.

"Why not?" he whined.

"Because what if we get into it with the phoenix? I can't fight in that!"

"If it comes to it, I'll rip the skirt," at her sigh, he knew he was getting somewhere. "Please?"

"Fine," she snatched the ugly thing from him. "But at the first sign of trouble, it's coming off!" He raised his eyebrows suggestively. "You know what I mean," she snapped, adding it to the pile on the counter. "I'm waiting for you by the car."

"Em…Em, come on!" he called after her as she opened the door.

Walking over to the impala, she quickly hit Sam's speed dial. "Sammy."

"What's up?"

"He's making me wear a dress." Sam's laughter suddenly erupted over the line. "Sam! You gotta help me!"

"Well, what'd you tell him?"

"You know I can't say no to you guys!"

His laughter started again. "Sam!"

"What's going on?" Bobby's voice was faint in the background.

"Dean got Emily a dress."

"Good luck getting it on her."

"What a help you two are," she snapped, pushing the phone violently into her pocket.

"Who was that?" Dean asked, walking over.

"Sammy. He laughed at me."

A short burst of laughter erupted from Dean before he saw her face and quickly suppressed it. "Look, how do you think they'd react to a girl in jeans? They wouldn't know what you were. Come on, get in the car."

After they had driven a few miles in silence, she hesitantly asked, "Dean?"

"Yeah."

"About our conversation with Sammy…" He was silent; his jaw tensing was the only indication she had to stop. "I…I'm sorry."

"Don't," he said immediately. "Don't be sorry for something you can't change. It wasn't your fault."

"But I'm sorry for not telling you before. You should–"

"Can it.

"Dean, please."

"Listen to me. We're gonna stick with you no matter what, and I mean what I said when I promised never to let you go again," he stated, eyes remaining fixed on the road. "You're never gonna get rid of me."

"Sorry, Dean," she muttered, lying down across the adjoining front seats, putting her head in his lap.

She felt him tense for a moment, as if deciding how to react, before carefully draping an arm over her. She smiled, closing her eyes.

* * *

"Twenty-four hours is all I can risk," Castiel was saying as we walked through the door. "If I don't pull you home in that time, you'll be lost to me."

"Well then we'd better get you a watch," Dean said, announcing their presence.

"What the hell's all that?" Bobby asked, seeing the bags in Dean's grasp.

"We are going native," Dean said proudly. "Got to blend in."

He offered a bag to Sam who stubbornly shook his head. "I thought you were only getting Em a dress."

"Sam, just wear it."

"I'll be fine in what I'm wearing, Dean."

"And look like a spaceman?"

"Look, just because you're obsessed with all that Wild West stuff–"

"No I'm not," he immediately denied.

"You have a fetish."

"Shut up. I like old movies, so what?"

"You can recite every Clint Eastwood movie ever made, line for line."

"Even the monkey movies?" Bobby asked.

"Especially the monkey movies."

"His name is Clyde," Dean interrupted. Sighing in defeat, he held out a bag for Sam. "At least wear the damn shirt?"

"Fine," Sam huffed, grabbing the bag and walking upstairs.

"And you," Dean gestured to me, holding out the largest bag for me to take.

She sighed, taking the bulky _thing_ and followed Sam upstairs. She took the bathroom, as the boys would change in front of each other under normal circumstances. The dress was the itchiest thing she ever had to wear, and she felt as though the skirt made her ten feet wider. "Sammy!" she called. "I can't reach the back!"

There was a gentle knock at the door and Sam's voice asked, "You decent…like, covered?"

She could visualize him blushing on the other side of the door. "I'm good." The door opened, and she soon felt Sam's fingers ghosting across her back as he tied the strings of her dress. "I can't believe he's making me wear this."

"Well, just thing about it. How would a town of sexist men react to a woman in pants?"

"You know that's exactly what Dean said." As Sam was tightening the last few strings, she asked, "Can he really recite all the movies?"

"Yup. We were hunting once, we were about to gank the thing, and he goes, 'Ever notice how you come across somebody once in a while you shouldn't have messed with? That's me,'" Sam said, dropping his voice an octave for the impression.

"He didn't!"

"Yeah," he laughed. "And we had this other one somewhere in Texas. We had it cornered, but we were pinned against the wall. All of a sudden I hear, him yell, 'I know what you're thinking. Did he fire six shots or only five? Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?"'

Sam, having finished the last string somewhere in the middle of his story, found himself leaning against the counter for support as he laughed with Emily. "You do know I'm right here," Dean grumbled from the other room. "I can here every word you're saying."

"Yeah, well you made me wear a dress, I deserve a little fun!"

"Come on," Sam said, still grinning. "Go give his Wild West fetish a fix."

When she walked through the door to the boy's room, Dean didn't notice her at first; his head was down as he concentrated on buttoning his open shirt. _Hello…_

"Dean, I think she was right," Sam said from behind her, causing Dena's gaze to snap up and meet hers. His eyes quickly scanned her up and down, fingers faltering with his buttons. "I'm not sure she can fight in this," Sam was saying.

Snapping his gaze up to Sam, he cleared his throat. "I told her if it gets in the way, I'd trim it. She can carry a knife with her, too," he said, glancing her over once more before returning his gaze to his buttons. She swore he was blushing slightly.

"Nice hat, cowboy," she grinned, nodding to the Stenson on the bed.

Dean, flipping the hat onto his head, said, "Thank you, ma'am."

"Come on, Lone Ranger," Sam laughed. "Let's go."

She followed the two boys downstairs back into Bobby's study; Bobby, eyeing Dean, asked, "What are you, going to a hoedown?"

"Now, is it – it is customary to wear a blanket?" Castiel asked hesitantly.

"It's a serape," Dean corrected. "And yes, it's uh…never mind, let's just go."

"What's this?" Dean asked, picking up a few pieces of gold jewelry Bobby had dropped in the bag.

He quickly explained, "Where you're going, they don't take plastic."

"I'll send you back to March 4. That should give you some time to find the Colt. And this phoenix creature," Castiel said, advancing toward us.

"All right, well…see ya at high noon tomorrow," Dean grinned, clicking his tongue. "Pardner."

"Hold her hands," Castiel ordered. She was sandwiched between the boys as she felt their hand immediately grasp herse. _Dean's hands were slightly warmer than Sam's, but Sam's were smoother, _she thought casually.


	16. Chapter 16

There was suddenly a feeling of free falling through Alice's rabbit hole before she was outside with sand under her feet. As she quickly got her bearings, she noticed a sign hung high that read "Sunrise, WYO."

"Oh, now we're talking," Dean said, looking adoringly over at the town.

"Alight," Sam sighed, setting his watch. "Let's go find Samuel Colt."

"Hey, we should try the saloon first," Dean said excitedly, "uh, see what we can get from the locals."

"Sure," Sam grinned, "whatever you say, Sundance."

"Think we'll have time to hit on the saloon girls?" A glare from Sam silenced him. "Kidding."

As Emily walked ahead with Dean, she suddenly heard, "Oh, damn it!" Quickly spinning around, she burst out laughing at the sight of Sam looking dejectedly down at his boots; he had just stepped in manure.

"You know what that is?" Dean asked, lending Sam a hand to keep his balance.

"Yeah, horse–"

"Authenticity!"

"We stand here today, March fourth, 1861," an old man was saying as the three of us entered the town, "to execute justice upon Elias Finch for the murder of his own wife." Four men were standing on a platform above the town: one judge who had been speaking, two menacing men with guns, and one in a black cowboy hat with the rope around his neck.

"Wow…talk about authenticity," Sam muttered.

"Sentence handed down by myself, Tye Mortimer, duly appointed judge of the Wyoming circuit: You will be hung by your neck until you die.

"You got anything to say?" one of the men next to the condemned asked.

"I can't watch this," she mumbled, turning and walking away, trying to block out the voices. Knowing that it would happen soon, she ducked behind one of the houses and firmly pressed her hands over her ears, slowly rocking back and forth and snapping the rubber band against her wrist occasionally with her teeth.

Large hands were suddenly on her shoulders, attempting to shake her back to reality; when she refused open her eyes, the hands pulled hers away from her ears. "Emmy?" Sam's voice asked with an underlying tone of desperation.

"Sammy," she gasped. "I can't do this."

"Emmy, what's wrong? We gank things every week."

"It's different, Sam," she said, looking into his eyes, trying to make him understand. "We kill things that-that kill people. _We_ don't kill people."

He sighed, sitting against the house beside me. "I know," he finally said after a moment of silence. "Eventually, you're going to be able to…compartmentalize this kind of stuff where you don't think about it until you have time, like back at a motel or at Bobby's or something – somewhere safe. You've been out of the business for a while, so it might take you a bit to get used to it again," he paused. His hands stroked hers, attempting to calm her; they were warm. "This stuff…you know, it's not easy, but me and Dean are going to be here every step of the way, alright? Whenever you need to, talk to us, Emmy."

A third had was suddenly on her shoulder opposite Sam; it was Dean. "Anytime, princess, you got that?"

She nodded, sighing heavily before smiling at Sam. "Thanks guys."

The boys exchanged a glance over her head before Dean said, "I talked to the sheriff, and he thinks we should find a guy named Elkins at the saloon."

She nodded again, standing up, momentarily grasping Sammy's shoulder for balance. "You good?" Sam asked, concerned, before getting up himself.

"I'm good," she cleared her throat. "Let's get this thing." She hastily wiped her face dry.

"Em–" Sam began before Dean cut him off.

"You sure," he asked – well, it was more of a skeptical statement.

She nodded, waiting for Dean to lead the way to the saloon; she watched his face immediately fall at the view in front of them. The saloon was a dingy, dim-light, dirty room with a single a single drunk man passed out at a table and a few prostitutes who looked like they had several STD's each. "This is not awesome," he muttered, looking around.

Sam slapped him unsympathetically on the shoulder before sauntering over to the bartender. "Hi," he said, after ensuring Dean and Emily were following him.

"What'll ya have?" the man drawled, wiping down the counter.

"Oh, uh, okay…great," Dean said, smirk growing again. "I'll take your top-shelf whiskey."

"Only have the one shelf."

"That'll do just fine. And he'll have a sarsaparilla," he nodded toward Sam.

"Anything for your girl?" he asked, gesturing toward Emily.

She shook her head. "I don't drink." Sam smiled, pulling her to his side while Dean winked at her.

"You Elkins?" Sam asked.

Pouring the drinks, he answered, "The one and only."

"You know a man named Samuel Colt?" Dean inquired.

Elkins nodded, "He passed through here about four years ago."

"He still around?" Sammy asked.

"Rumor is," he began pouring the second drink, "he's building a railroad stop twenty miles out of town just by the Postal Road…middle of nowhere."

"The devil's gate," Sam whispered to the other two.

"Location fits," Dean answered.

As the boys were handed their drinks, a shrill voice from the stairs called, "Howdy, boys!" The woman descending the stairs was in a ruffled tan dress, a choker necklace, and she had some sort of growth on the side of her mouth…probably STD's…gross.

"Darla's my best girl," the bartender said cockily from behind the counter. "But I suppose…you two already got one to yourselves…"

"What?" Sam choked on his drink while Dean attempted to defend himself against Darla.

"The three of you…ain't you…?"

She watched realization cross Sam's face before it was quickly replaced with anger; then she understood. "Oh, no! I – what?" she sputtered.

Suddenly, saving them all from awkward encounters, the judge burst through the door. "Darla?"

A look of annoyance crossed Darla's face as the turned around. "Judge…nice to see you."

"I thought we had a date," he said bluntly, gesturing to the second floor.

Reluctantly, Darla led the way upstairs, staring lustfully at Dean the whole way. Emily immediately decided that she hated her.


	17. Chapter 17

As Dean was recovering from the shock of his "gasoline" drink, a shrill scream of terror suddenly sounded from the second floor. Dean immediately ran upstairs, closely followed by the other two; as Dean threw open the door, they were met with the site of a pile of burnt bones on the bed and Darla standing shaken against the wall. "What the hell?" Emily muttered.

Elkin's footsteps reached the second floor before he burst into the room, and, after glimpsing the body, sharply told the prostitute to "put some damn clothes on."

"Sammy, go get the sheriff," Dean ordered, arm tightening around Emily's waist. Sam only nodded before glancing at her and turning out the door.

"It was a-a ghost," Darla mumbled from across the room.

"Hush now," Elkins said, not too kindly, and threw Darla her dress.

"I swear to you," she continued, slipping on the garment, "it was Elias Finch! He was just suddenly in the room – o-over there by the door," she pointed, "and I screamed. The he, like, put his hand on the judge's chest and _burned him_!"

"I had enough of you!" the bar tender snapped, pointing at her.

"Hey!" Dean's rough voice stopped him. "Go back downstairs, you could be losing clients. The sheriff will deal with this."

Elkins growled something under his breath and eyed Dean threateningly as he passed the duo on his way downstairs. "Got him," Sam's breathless voice suddenly said, immediately relaxing the tension that had been building in Dean's muscles as Elkins passed.

The sheriff, upon entering, sighed heavily at the sight of the dead man before him. "You okay sheriff?" Sam asked.

"O'course I'm okay," the sheriff replied roughly.

"It was a ghost," Darla continued to insist, coming to stand by the sheriff.

Immediately, the sheriff stated, "It wasn't a ghost. Unless ghosts leave footprints."

Behind them was a pair of ashy footprints leading out the door. "I'm tellin' ya," Darla rambled, "Elias Finch was here. He did _that_, and the h-he walked out that door."

"Rope didn't kill him," the sheriff rationalized. "Seen it before."

"Well, you got any idea where he could be?" Sam asked.

"Could be a thousand places."

"Well, you got any way to flush him out?" Dean asked.

"Course. We're gonna form a posse," the sheriff stated; Dean immediately stood straighter. "Then we're gonna string Flinch up right. Put a bullet in his head for good measure." Sam's arm snuck around Emily's waist and comfortingly squeezed her as she bit her tongue. "You two should come along."

"Three," Dean automatically corrected.

"What?"

"Three. I know she doesn't look like much, but she can fight," Dean nodded in my direction.

"_Her_? She ran away from the hanging, I watched her."

"Like I said," Dean continued, "tougher than she looks."

"Fine, whatever. Meet downstairs at dawn. And," he gave the three a last glance-over, "get yourself some real gear first."

After ensuring Darla and the sheriff were out of earshot, Dean said, "Well, I think we out to pay our respects to Finch."

"Hang on," Emily interrupted. "We're supposed to be hunting a phoenix. The burning and-and coming back from the dead – Finch _could_ be a phoenix."

A thoughtful look crossed Dean's face as Sammy said, "Let's check tonight, just to be sure."

* * *

Sure enough, when they visited the grave later that night, it was empty, the top of the coffin having been broken and tossed out of the grave from the inside. After quickly conferring and realizing Emily had been right, Dean wanted Sam to get the colt. "But isn't the gun coming here, according to Colt's journal?" Sam protested.

"Yeah, but if here hasn't been here in four years, why would he come back now? The people in his town barley even know who Colt is," Dean argued. "Maybe you gotta go find him and make history. "We'll stay here, hook up with the posse. 'Cause you know me," he shrugged, "I'm a posse magnet."

"Dean!" Emily exclaimed.

"I mean, I love posse," he winked at her. "Make that into a T-shirt," his smirk turned to Sam.

"You done?" he asked slightly annoyed.

"Look, the problem is, the Colt's twenty miles out of town." Emily's face was blushing slightly as Sam spoke, and she was suddenly glad for the low lighting. "How am I supposed to get there and back before noon?"

"Simple. A horse," Dean's smirk returned. "Ride 'em cowboy."

"We can use the gold from the dragons," Emily rationalized, finding her voice.

Something dark flashed through Dean eyes before he quickly turned away. "Then let's go."

The stable boy was a skinny, dirty thing, extremely grateful for the gold. "Dean?" Sam asked hesitantly when the boy was out of range. "The thing's tiny."

The bay horse was as tall as Sam with a long white stripe down its face; she thought it was cute. "I'll go."

"What?" they both stared at her.

"I'm lighter than Sammy, so I can make the trip faster," she explained.

"I don't want you out there alone," Dean protested.

"I can handle myself perfectly well, Dean. Come on, I'll be faster than Sam."

Sammy hesitantly put in, "She does have a point Dean.

Dean sighed; she knew he caved. "Good. Help me up." The boys gave her a lift up onto the horse, and she comfortable seated herself before signaling that she was good. "Surprisingly, I can actually ride normally in a dress. Who would've thought."

"Be careful, Em," Dean pleaded, looking up at her.

She nodded, giving a slight smile to him before turning to Sam. "Take care of each other. Try not to get killed."

"Deal," Sam attempted a smile, clearly nervous.

"See ya tomorrow, pardner," she winked at Dean before spurring the horse into a gallop, dress billowing out behind her as she disappeared into the night.


	18. Chapter 18

"Samuel Colt?" she asked from the doorway of the railroad station, one of the points on the Devil's Gate.

"No, I'm sorry. Try down the road a bit." The older man took a swig of his whiskeys and returned his gaze to his book.

"Let's just cut to the chase. Me and my brothers are hunting a phoenix back in town, and we need to borrow the gun or you and the gun."

As she spoke, he eyed her suspiciously. "I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Cut the crap. We need the gun to save the world." Seeing that she wasn't getting through to him, she sighed and continued, "I'm a hunter from the year 2011 in the future and the Mother, that's the mother of all monsters, was raised from purgatory and we need the ashes of a phoenix to kill it."

Samuel Colt poured himself another glass of whiskey and slowly drank half the glass before saying, "Okay."

"Oh…okay."

As he opened his mouth to say something, hoof beats could suddenly be heard outside; Emily turned her back to Samuel to face the door.

Two mean looking men burst through the door, ignoring her completely, and demanded, "Samuel Colt?" Sulfur invaded her nostrils and adrenaline began to rush through her veins.

"You have the wrong drunk, gentlemen," he said, turning back to his papers, much in the fashion that he had when she arrived. "Have a nice day."

"We've been looking for you, Colt," the older man said.

"And who might we be?" Samuel inquired.

The men's eyes flashed black and she was immediately on edge, waiting for Samuel to do his part before jumping in to help. "Listen," he said carefully. "I've long since hung it up. I'm tired, and I'm too damn old for this and I'm sure as hell not looking for any trouble."

"Well, it's found you anyway," the older continued. "We know you built the devil's gate, Colt. So you're going to open it for us. That is, if you fancy keeping your lungs in your chest." His hand moved to rest on the grip of his gun.

Samuel's eyes flashed to mine and I immediately pulled the exorcism passage from my memory, ready to spew Latin when necessary. "Walk away, gentlemen," was their only warning.

"I think we'd rather rip you to ribbons," the talkative demon pushed, "you soft–"

Two gunshots ripped through the air before the two demons lay on the floor, chest wounds sparking. "Aw, that's a shame," Samuel muttered, looking down at the broken bottle of whiskey. "A damn shame. You any good with a shovel?"

"In our profession you have to be," I sighed. "Where do you want them?"

"Out back through that door," he nodded to one side of the house.

She nodded and began to drag the older man outside as Colt immediately followed suit. They made short work of the job together and didn't really talk much until Samuel had led the way back inside and drank another full glass of whiskey. "Alright, you've got me convinced you're a hunter…but how do I know you're from the future? Prove it. Uh, drink?" he offered.

"Prove it? Uh, no drink, thanks…" She quickly reached into her cleavage, earning raised eyebrows from Colt before she swiftly pulled out her phone and handing it to him.

He carefully turned it over in his hands, surprisingly quickly finding the _ON_ button to light up the screen. "Okay," he said, placing it on the bookshelf. "So, why'd you say you and your brothers needed the gun?"

"To kill a phoenix. Actually, you kill it." She handed him his own journal that she had snagged from Sammy yesterday.

"That's impossible," he muttered before taking another swig of whiskey. "Either I'm too drunk or not drunk enough…So, what is it I'm about to do exactly?"

"The phoenix is in sunrise and we need your help killing it."

"Look, doll. I appreciate your situation, but I can't help," he said, sitting back down.

"Why not?"

"I'm retired. I'm out."

"There is no out. And what I just saw with the demons proves it. Look, Samuel…for what it's worth…in my time, where I come from, you're a hero."

"Never meet your heroes, kid. They always let you down."

"Look, whether you come or not, I need the gun," she said, annoyed.

"Hon, you don't want it. It's nothing but a curse, believe me. How long you been hunting; I mean, you look young."

"All my life…I know how to handle a gun, if that's what you're asking."

"Kid, I'm doing you a favor, believe me."

"So you're really just gonna sit there like some jackass?"

"Words like that should not be coming out of a mouth like yours."

"And talent like yours shouldn't be sitting here dying from alcohol poisoning and depression!"

He hesitated. "I've given my whole life to this. I'm out."

"So everything you did is just…it all means nothing to you?"

"Kid…"

"I need to do something even if you're too gone to help, so give me the gun, Samuel, and you won't see me again."

He sighed, hand floating to the colt. She waited, letting him make up his mind. He lifted the gun and carefully handed it to her, asking, "You know the safety?"

She nodded, taking the gun from him. "I'll be in Sunrise if you change your mind," she said, turning on her heels and walking out the door. The trip back to the boys took her about two and a half hours of hellish, bumpy riding across rough terrain. Her braid had begun to come undone as she helped Samuel, and now, as she rode, she quickly ripped out the band holding what was left of it together, completely freeing her hair. She was a sight to Dean who was standing outside the prison, watching for her; her hair flowed behind her in the wind, occasionally whipping against her face as the dress billowed slightly.

As she slowed, he ran up to her, swiftly lifting her off the horse and steadying her on her own two feet. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked, referring to her dirty and disheveled look.

"Samuel had some shit go down with two demons and I had to help bury them. No big deal."

"You alright?" his eyes were suddenly full of concern, glancing her over once.

"Yeah, I'm fine Dean."

"You got it?"

"Yes. Where's Sam?"

"Inside with the last guy," he explained, leading her to the door.


	19. Chapter 19

As they walked into the room, Sam's gaze jumped to them; Elias Finch was standing near the jail cell, his gaze on them now as well. "You," Finch said immediately, staring Dean down. "Open up that cell."

"Open it yourself," Dean said immediately, pushing Emily behind him. "You melt people's faces off. I bet you got the juice to tear that apart, don't you?" He passed when the phoenix did not move. "Unless you can't. Just like you couldn't break those cuffs when they strung you up," he said, slowly walking over to the table, pulling her along with him, always keeping his body between her and the phoenix. Dean swiftly tossed Finch an iron nail; as the phoenix caught it, it immediately full from his grasp, leaving an angry burn in its place. "Iron shackles, iron bars, iron nail," Dean commented. "See a pattern? Don't worry, most creatures we meet can't get it up for iron. It's a common monster problem."

"So you're a hunter."

"Slash sheriff," Dean smirked, revealing his newly acquired badge. _Kinda hot_.

"You know what this son of a bitch did?"

Sam, who had been mostly quiet, said, "Tell us."

"I was married to a woman, good woman – human," Finch said, advancing toward the cell. "We lived outside of town, didn't bother anyone."

"Sure, freak with a heart of gold," the older Winchester commented.

"Dean, shut up," Emily quietly snapped before turning her focus back to the phoenix.

"You want to call me a monster, fine. But all we did was go into town. I go into the bank for five minutes, I come out, she's gone. And then I heard her scream." Finch was directly in front of the cell now, staring down the man inside. "This…_man_ had her pinned in the alley. I go to stop him, he pulls his gun, shoots me, then her." His gaze flashed sharply to Sam before turning to Dean as he said, "She died in my arms." A crazed look passed over his face as he looked back at his wife's killer. "'Course, I don't die. The shots brought the sheriff," he continued. "Next thing I know I'm in iron…that's why I want him just where he is…trapped, scared. I saved the best for last."

"Is that true?" Dean sharply asked the man in the cell, who couldn't say a word to his name.

"So tell me," Finch asked, "are you really willing to die to protect this piece of filth?"

"Honestly, I could care less about him," Dean said, face stone. "He's a dick and a coward. But this ain't about him. I know what you are."

"Really?"

"Yeah. So, I got to kill you."

"Well, if you know what I am, then you know you can't."

"Em, gun." As she moved to hand it over, Finch swiftly moved across the room to grab the gun from the handing holster and swiftly shot his wife' killer in the chest.

Sam was suddenly by her side, shoulder slightly in front of her as if to block her from the Mexican standoff between Dean with the colt and Elias Finch with a dead man's gun.

"Hold on!" Emily screamed, jumping between the two. "Just, hold on!"

"Em, what the hell are you doing?" Dean exclaimed, lowering his gun.

"Em, come here," Sam beckoned.

"Girl, move. You have an innocent heart; I saw that much from the hanging. I don't mean to hurt you," Finch said, hesitantly lowering his gun halfway.

"Elias, how many have you killed before these three?" she asked, adrenaline flowing through her.

"None," was his honest answer. "They only needed to answer for that they'd done."

"Dean," she suddenly turned her gaze to him. "What if someone killed me? You go ape-shit on anything that moved. Be honest." His gaze softened as he looked at her and nodded ever so slightly. "Look, Dean, he's not evil. We can find another phoenix somewhere else who really is a killer. We know what to look for now."

"What do you need another for?" Elias asked, gun lowering another foot.

"We're hunting something truly evil," she ignored Dean's protests, "and the only way to kill her is with the ashes of a phoenix."

"And this creature," Finch asked hesitantly, "is responsible for many deaths?"

"The majority, if not all, supernatural deaths, yes. Big mama."

The gun lowered completely to his side as he stared at her, thinking. "Okay," he said finally, after a tense moment of silence. "Kill me."

"What?" she exclaimed, giving him her full attention.

"Kill me. I have live for so many years, and now I've lost the one thing that has kept me sane. If you have something that will end my life, I welcome it. I'm too old, seen to many things…it would be an honor to help," he said slowly.

Her gaze was conflicted as she continued to stare at him. "Em," Dean's soft voice said. "Go outside."

"Dean, please," he hair whipped around her face as she spun to face him. "Don't do this."

"Em," Sam said quietly, "how long is it going to take to find another phoenix? What guarantee is there that the next one will be evil?"

"Sammy," she begged quietly. _Not you too_.

"Please." Her gaze was turned back to Finch. "If it will make it easier on her, give me the gun."

"No!" Dean exclaimed. "I'm not giving you a loaded weapon."

"If I wanted to kill you, I have a gun right here," he said, slightly annoyed, as he tossed his gun across the room.

Hesitantly, Dean, after nervously glancing at Sam, slowly handed the phoenix the gun. Grasping the gun, Finch pointed it at his chest and said quietly to Emily, "Child, turn around. It will be easier for you."

Her pained gaze grew confused before Sam swiftly pulled her into his vice grip, face in his chest. "No, Sammy, don't," she begged, squirming in his grasp.

The gun went off. There was a sudden flare of heat before Sam's fingers began stroking her hair; she felt hot tears slip from her eyes and stain Sam's shirt. "She okay?" Dean's rough voice asked.

As the town clock suddenly struck high noon, Sam exclaimed, "Dean, the ashes!" while still maintaining his grip on her.

As Dean's boots swiftly moved across the floor, a feeling of vertigo suddenly overcame her and she was back in Bobby's living room. Dean hadn't gotten the ashes.


	20. Chapter 20

"Damnit…you gotta send us back, Castiel," he begged, getting to his feet.

"Dean, he's fried," Sam said softly, loosening his grip on Emily.

"She alright?" Bobby asked.

"_She_ is fine," Emily huffed, pushing Sam away and swiftly wiping her eyes.

"What crawled up your trousers?" Bobby grumbled from his chair.

"You know," Dean said sharply, "If it wasn't for your noble 'save the monster crap,' we could've gotten the damn ashes!"

"'_Save the monster crap_'? Dean, he wasn't evil! You would've done the same damn thing in his position! You admitted it! You want someone coming in here and killing you?!"

"That's different!"

"How?!" she screamed.

A sudden knock at the door caused the group to turn, temporarily forgetting the fight. "Is there an Emily Winchester here?" a voice asked as Sam opened the door.

"Who's asking?"

"Look, this is nuts, but me and a couple guys made a bet. So, this thing's been laying around the office since _forever_ with a note on it saying to bring it here today. It's from a Samuel Colt?"

"Y-yeah," Sam's voice said shakily. "That's ours. Thanks."

The door shut suddenly as Sam brought a rather large box into the living room; after the brown paper was unwrapped, an old box covered in dust sat on Bobby's desk. Sam carefully opened the box, revealing a note, her phone, and a bottle of ashes. "Dear Emily," Sam read aloud. "I got this address and date off your magic brick, and I thought the enclosed might come in handy. You made an old drunk see sense, and for that I thank you. With regards, Samuel Colt." The four glanced at her before regarding the jar of ashes Sam lifted from the box intently.

"You know what this means?" Dean asked. "We take the fight to her. Em–"

"Piss off," she spat, storming out the garage door, being sure to shut it will a bit more force an necessary.

She sighed, walking deep into the maze of broken cars, attempting to control the tears slipping from her eyes. I didn't help her knowing that she couldn't do something to save him when she felt like she had too. She sighed heavily, finally collapsing against a rusty car frame and contemplated her life.

She sat there on the cold ground for what felt like hours, not moving a muscle, tear tracks drying on her face. She thought about John, and how black and white he would have been at the situation. Then her mother…she wouldn't want her doing this job at all; at least…that's what Emily thought. Then Bobby, who didn't understand but was always there for her. Everyone around her, doing this job, would've killed Elias in an instant, never once considering he wasn't a real monster – real as in cold-blooded killer. She didn't understand why she was so different; why did she have to be the only hunter with _feelings_?

"Hey," Dean's rough voice seemed louder than usual even though he was whispering. She refused to look at him, fresh tear running down her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"What?" her soft voice was hoarse as she stared up at him.

Sighing, Dean slowly slid down in the dirt next to her, and, after a moment, said quietly, "I'm sorry. But…as hard as I think about it, I can't find a way that situation could have gone without one of us dead. So, I…I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Dean," she whispered, able to forgive him but not able to understand why it had to happen.

"I feel like it is."

"I know." Another tear escaped as she told him, "So do I."

His arms were suddenly around her, pulling her tightly to his chest. "We need your help, Em," she said quietly. "Sometimes…shit like this is gonna happen, and there's nothing we can do about it no matter how hard we try. But we need to focus on ganking the sons of bitches who _are_ evil, the ones who deserve it. And we need you for that…I – I need you."

"T-thank you, Dean," she muttered, laying her head on his shoulder. "And…I'm sorry."

"I know," he mumbled, stroking her hair. "Come back inside."

She shook her head. "Not yet. I need to…think."

He sighed heavily, not liking the idea of her being out there for much longer. "Just come in soon, okay?" She nodded, pulling away from his grasp as he stood up. "Be careful, Emmy. Don't, you know, do anything stupid…"

As his voice trailed off, she tried to smile up at him, "I won't, Dean."

Reluctantly, Dean finally left, letting her explore her emotions about them her boys and the recent events once again. Partly, she couldn't help blaming them for what happened; Dean _did _give Elias the gun and Sammy basically agreed by not letting her interfere. The embers of her anger form earlier began to flare again, and unfortunately, Sam, with his awful timing, decided to show up at that moment.

"You alright, Emmy?" he asked, hands deep in his pockets.

"Fine, Sammy." _I could've done something._

He sighed, leaning against a stack of old cars, "You sure?"

She sighed, "No, Sammy." She paused, dropping her head in her hands, and Sam let her continue at her pace. "I mean…you…I could've done something," she looked sharply up at him.

"Em–"

"I could've helped, Sam!" she yelled, jumping to her feet.

"There was nothing you could've done. One way or another, he was gone. If we hadn't gotten him, Samuel would've, or Elias would have eventually found a way out himself. Em, he wanted to die."

"I know, Sam!" she screamed at him before sobs began to wrack her small frame. "I know…"

His strong arms were suddenly wrapped around her as she cried into his warm shirt; he had changed into a pair of sweatpants and a soft grey T-shirt. Emily was still in the godforsaken itchy dress, frozen from sitting unmoving on the cold, hard ground. Unlike Dean who had rushed her, Sammy let her cry it out, exhausting herself in his arms; "I'm sorry, Sammy," she blubbered, sobs having morphed into steady, silent tears.

"Shh," he comforted, stroking her hear like Dean had. "You know," he said quietly, "I always thought it was kinds weird that, even though you're older than me, I'm kinda your big brother."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Gigantor," she muttered, leaning into him. She had to quickly dismiss the vision of kissing his beautiful lips that drifted into her mind.

"You okay, Emmy?"

She nodded, sniffing, reaching her arms around Sam's chest to squeeze him tightly to her. "I'll be fine, Sammy. But I really want to get out of this dress and take a shower."

"'Course," Sam rumbled, releasing her from his arms, and a wave of cold suddenly washed over her as she stepped back.


	21. Chapter 21

Stepping out of the shower, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was matted to her head with moisture, and her eyes were sunken into her head so it looked as if she hadn't slept in days. Sighing, she toweled her hair before pulling on a pair of old sweatpants and lucky bra. She could hear Sam and Dean's low tones in the other room but couldn't make out what they were saying. Her Metallica T-shirt was pulled over her head before the hairbrush was picked up and the door opened.

As she turned into the guest bedroom, the boys immediately stopped talking to sharply look up at her. "Well, hi to you too."

"Hey," Sam said hesitantly. "How you doing?"

"Fine, you?" she replied quickly, avoiding Dean's gaze.

"Good," Sam replied carefully.

She stared at the floor for a few seconds before she and Dean began talking at the same time. "Sorry," she muttered, gesturing for him to go ahead.

He cleared his throat and said roughly, "Come here."

She looked up at him, slightly confused, before hesitantly walking over. He guided her to sit cross-legged on the bed between him and Sam, facing the younger brother. "Hairbrush," he ordered, reaching his hand out.

"Dean–" she started.

"Hairbrush."

She sighed, reluctantly handing him the brush before looking straight ahead at Sam, jaw set, determined not to let him get to her, as Dean's fingers began to run through her hair. As he began to separate her hair into sections and brush each one separately, her eyes flicked closed as she remembered.

_"Deeeny!"she called out, running through the motel room trying to find her older brother. She was seven years old and thought there was nothing more important than Dean and Sammy. "Brush my hair!"_

_"Alright, come here," he said from in front of the television set. She bounced toward him to sit, legs crossed, back to him as she proudly handed him the brush. As the cartoons flickered on screen, Dean's hands ran through her hair before separating the sections, just how she liked it. _

_"What are you gonna do when you grow up?" he asked. "I can't brush your hair forever, you know."_

_"Yes you can," she smiled, watching the cartoons. "Forever."_

_"Hewwo!" Sam announced, walking in to sit in front of Emily. "My twurn," he smiled, pudgy hand gently grabbing a section of hair, beginning to braid it. "Now, doun't take it owt, okaey?"_

_"Alright, Sammy," she smiled down at him. _

_"Pwomise?"_

_"Promise." _

She could feel tears pricking her eyes as she remembered just how many times Dean actually brushed her hair. He still did it when she was sixteen. As Dean finished with the third section, Sam hesitantly reached up for the strands falling in her face, fingers brushing her check. "You mind?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head, smiling up at him. She knew they weren't good with words, and this was there way of apologizing for what had happened in Wyoming. She sighed, eyes still closed, letting Sam carefully begin to braid her hair; she felt something twist in the pit of her stomach as thought about them. A storm of emotions raged through her, but overall she was so overwhelmingly happy to just be reunited with them.

She felt Sam tie something at the end of the braid as Dean was working in the second half of her hair. She blinked her eyes open to see Sam's face contorted in an intense focus as he worked with the strands. His gaze suddenly flickered to hers and a grin began to form on his face. "What?" he asked, voice low.

"Nothing," she whispered, eyes dropping to her lap.

"What?" he asked again, letting the braid fall on her neck before taking one of her hands in his.

She sighed, her eyes flickering back up at him. "I just missed you guys, that's all," she said quietly. His thumb rubbed circles in her hands, silently urging her to continue. "I missed this."

The three sat in silence for a few moments as Dean continued to brush through her hair. "I love you guys, you know." As the words slipped from her mouth, she immediately regretted ever having vocal cords.

The movements of Sam's thumb on her hand immediately stopped, and Dean's brushing faltered as her face turned bright, red. "I-I mean you're like my brothers – always there," she desperately tried to recover, "and I-I don't know what I would do without you, ya know?"

As she began to ramble, Dean's had squeezed her shoulder as Sam met his brother's gaze for a moment. "I get it, Em. We got you."

As if nothing had happened, Dean's fingers were back in her hair and Sam's thumb began drawing new designs on her hand. She sighed, mentally begging her face to stop blushing as she gently squeezed Sam's fingers, looking up at him. He gave her a small smile before her gaze dropped back to their hands.

"Emmy," Dean said softly, pulling the last strand of hair off her neck to drag it through the brush, "you should get some sleep. You don't look so good, princess."

"Yeah," she agreed quietly, taking a deep breath, dreading what came after her eyes had closed.

"Uh–" Sam hesitantly began, seeing her discomfort, "I-I could stay i-if you want."

His eyes caught hers as a grin tugged at her lips. She faltered, mind involuntarily flashing back to Wyoming. "I-I don't know."

"You're still mad at us," Dean said quietly. She said nothing, gaze trained on her and Sam's intertwined hands. "It's okay. We'll go."

"No," she said immediately without thinking, eyes flashing to Sam's as her face began to flush again. "Uh...i-if you don't mind…w-would you stay?"

His face immediately broke into a grin at her acceptance. "Alright," Dean gently got up from the bed. "Have fun you two. Don't, ya know, do anything."

"Wait, where are you going?" she asked, slight tone of panic lining her voice.

Dean seemed taken aback, stuttering slightly, "W-well, I just thought, I mean you and Sammy…together and–" Sam's face flushed a bright shade of pink as Emily started up at Dean, slightly confused. "I mean, it'd be kind of awkward with the three of us…sharing a bed…"

"We did it when we were younger," she said.

"Well, yeah, but," Dean absently rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable, "you're…well, you're a woman now a-and…well, we're grown men and–"

Sam suddenly burst out laughing, drawing Emily's attention away from Dean. "Emmy, what he means to say it that guys have a certain anatomy, and girls have a certain anatomy. And, well, sometimes you're not like our little sister with pigtails anymore. I mean…you're beautiful."

"Oh." Her face had begun to blush at Sam's explanation and his compliment. _So what does this mean…do they…?_

Dean cleared his throat. "Well this is awkward." Emily grinned, unsure of what to do. "What the hell," Dean suddenly said, turning on his heel to walk out the door. "Let's do it."

"What?" Sam asked incredulously.

"You heard me, Sammy," Dean's voice came from down the hall. "Let me just change."

"Hang on, Emmy. Give me a sec," Sammy said, jumping up to follow Dean.

Emily sighed, threading her fingers through her hair, clearly agitated; she hated to be the cause of anything that came between the brothers. "Dean–" she heard Sam's hushed voice say.

"Listen, Sammy. She needs us right now. It won't be awkward it you just get over it. Now get out, I need to change my pants."

As Sammy walked back in, he caught her eye and smiled shyly. Getting on the bed, he scooted closer to her, pulling the covers back. "Come on," he muttered, climbing in. She hesitated.

"What?" he asked, slightly confused.

"It's just that…I remember doing this when we were little," she admitted, faint smile on her face.

"Yeah," Sam said softly, staring at her. "Those were the good times."

"One question," she said hesitantly climbing under the covers. "I know this worked when we were younger, but…well, frankly you guys got _big_."

She could feel Sammy laughing as Dean's response came from the doorway, "We'll figure it out." As Dean joined the pile, Emily scooted closer to Sam in order to give his brother some room, pressing her back against his hard chest. Dean's arms wrapped around her, pulling her close; Sam, slightly jealous, moved closer, draping an arm around her waist. "Night, princess," Dean muttered into her hair.

"Night," she responded quietly, closing her eyes. Sam said nothing, only tightened his hold on her.


	22. Chapter 22

_No…please…come back!_

Her eyes flashed open to be confronted with the views of Dean's T-shirt. "Right here, princess," Dean was muttering. "We're right here."

Her breath was coming in short gasps and the tears were wet on her cheeks. "Sorry," she muttered, burying her face in Dean's shirt. As his hand moved to hold her head against him, Dean's gaze locked with Sam's; Sammy's arms tightened around her, letting her come back to reality at her own pace.

She had to admit, this last month had been nothing like the past decade. Without the boys, she would have occasional hallucinations while she was awake, and the nightmares were much more severe. They would keep her awake for days, afraid to sleep, until she inevitably collapsed with exhaustion; when she jolted awake, the image of the impala driving off seemed to be burned into her retinas. Sometimes, something would set her off so badly that she would hide in her room for hours, curled up in the fetal position, rocking herself back and forth. Some days she would refuse to eat, worrying Bobby to no end when she was with him. Now, they were only terrible when she slept alone, not having the scent of boys' cologne clinging to the old sweatshirt, as it has been destroyed.

Her breathing slowly returned to normal as she tried to focus on the pattern of Dean stroking her hair. Sam's face was buried in the crook of her neck, his warm breath causing her skin to tingle; she knew he was worried about her. "I'm fine," she muttered, attempting to pick up the few scraps of dignity she had left.

"No you're not, princess." She felt the words rumble through Dean's chest as she sighed, the presence of the brothers helping to calm her down. "We gotta do something…"

"I'm fine, Dean," she insisted, pulling away from him to wipe her eyes. Sam refused to pick his head up from her neck, tightening his hold on her instead. "Sammy, please."

"Fine," the younger brother mumbled, releasing her to rest his hand gently on her hip.

"We're gonna bring Bobby into this," Dean said.

"What?! No, Dean, he has enough to worry about," she immediately protested.

"Emmy, he already worries about you. It'll make him feel better if he's actively doing something to help, okay?" Sam explained.

"Listen. I don't need help. I'm fine," she stated flatly, sitting up to get out of bed.

As she attempted to crawl over Dean to leave, he grabbed her arms, holding her in a compromising position; she was straddling him, hands planted on his chest. "You're not fine, and we're going to help."

"Let go of me, Dean," she stared stonily down at him.

"No. Not until you let us help you," Dean ordered, challenging her. "Emmy, I can see something is wrong, even if you're not willing to admit it. We care about you too much to stand by and do nothing, understand?" She took a deep breath, jaw set, unsure of what to do. "I can't stand by and do nothing when you're…listen, we just want to help, okay?"

She continued to stare at him, hesitating. "Alright."

"Alright," he breathed, releasing her wrists. "Go get dressed. I'll find breakfast."

"Yeah." As soon as she was off the bed, she turned away from them, attempting to hide the different emotions confusing her. As she rummaged through her go-bag, she heard Dean leave and Sam get off the bed.

"Emmy," his voice was hesitant as he hung back.

"Yeah Sammy?" she asked, desperately attempting to swallow the lump in her throat.

"I-I, uh…I'm here, okay? I-if you need to talk."

"Thanks, Sammy," she refused to look at him, staring at the drawer.

As she pulled out her jeans, Sam's hand was suddenly on her shoulder, making her jump. "Em…" She had to bite her lip as she looked up, forcing herself not to lose it. His gaze carefully gauged the expressions on her face before he pulled her into a tight hug.

Letting out a deep breath she didn't know she was holding, a barrier seemed to collapse and her Sammy was there to catch her. _That's the difference between them,_ she thought. _Dean pushes me to be better, do the right thing, do __something_. _Sammy lets me do it at my own pace. I have more freedom with him; I know I can talk to him without him expecting anything._ But she loved both of them. She loved being free with Sam, but the look on Dean's face when he was proud of her made her heart soar.

She sighed, squeezing Sam tighter. "I should get dressed," she breathed.

"Yeah…" he muttered, reluctant to leave her alone. "You gonna be alright?"

She smiled up at him. "Yeah, Sammy. I'm good."

"Alright." With one last glance, Sam left to find Dean downstairs, trusting her to do her own thing.

A soon as she was able to confirm that they were gone, she collapsed on the floor, tears silently escaping from the corners of her eyes. She hated feeling helpless. She hated needing someone. She hated that they were so insistent. She hated them. And she loved them. Sighing, she picked herself up off the floor and grabbed her clothes. Walking into the bathroom, she dropped the pile on the counter. Stripping, she eyed the wing tattoo cresting over her shoulders; she hated it. She hated what it was doing her life…to her relationship with the brothers. She hated herself for what she was doing to them.

Emily took a deep breath, desperately attempting to compose herself as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. "Reflection" from the Disney movie Mulan popped into her head has he tore her disgusted gaze away from the mirror. Pulling her jeans on and a clean T-shirt over hear head, she swung open the door to put her sweats back in her go-bag. Upon entering the room, she discovered a large sweatshirt on the bed; she slowly approached and picked up the note placed atop the garment.

_Emmy–_

_ Dean told we about the sweatshirt, and since he didn't have another one, I figured you'd need a _

_replacement. If it's too big, we can always go out and get you your own._

_–Sammy_

She smiled.


	23. Chapter 23

As she worked to fill the shotgun shells with phoenix ashes, she breathed in the calming smell of Sammy's sweatshirt. Dean sighed next to her as the two meticulously loaded the bullets intended for Eve.

"Hey," Sam said suddenly, coming downstairs to where the two were working, Bobby following closely behind. "How you doing?"

"Ten shells between us, that's how I'm doing," Dean muttered, fitting a cap onto another shell.

"Well, it's a hell of a lot more than we had last week," Sam said optimistically.

"Maybe."

"Meaning?" Bobby asked.

"Meaning I just had myself a mishap a couple minutes ago, and, uh – well, here, look." Dean reached over to smear a pinch of ashes on his arm as Emily continued packing shells

"Woah," Sam muttered. Dean's arm hadn't burned.

"This stuff is supposed to burn the bejesus out of Eve – doesn't even give me a sunburn."

"The lore says it works," Bobby insisted.

"That's always reliable," Dean muttered sarcastically.

"Well, maybe – maybe it's like iron or silver. Hurts them and not us," Sam proposed.

"Maybe," Dean muttered, getting up to wipe his arm off, "but fat lot of good it does us until we find this bitch."

"I'm looking, but I'm thinking it's time for you to make a call," Bobby said.

Dean stared at the both of them. "Why's it always gotta be me who makes the call, huh? It's not like Cas lives in my ass. The dude's busy."

At the sudden exclamation of "Cas, get out of my ass!" Emily spun around to find that Castiel had materialized in the room behind where Dean had been standing.

"I was never in your…" Castiel began, utterly confused. "Have you made any progress locating Eve?"

"Well," Bobby began, "we were gonna ask you about that." Emily turned back to her work, attempting to ignore the conversation.

"I've looked, but she's hidden from me. She's hidden from all angels."

"Awesome," Dean threw up his arms.

"You know, what we really need is an inside man," Sammy proposed.

"What do you mean?" Emily asked from her seat at the workbench.

"Something with claws and sympathy."

"Like a friendly monster?" Dean asked. "Those are in short supply these days, don't you think?"

_Considering you killed one_, she though bitterly, turning back to the bullets.

"Sure, but we've met one or two, right?" Sam asked.

"Maybe."

"So," Sam continued, "maybe we can find one."

There was a pause. "Alright," Dean said. "You work on that, Em and I will keep doing the bullets."

After what seemed like hours – she wasn't really counting – there was a sudden whoosh of air as Castiel suddenly appeared in the basement holding the shoulder of a young woman. Her face was dirty and clothes rippd; she looked homeless.

"Lenore," Sam said in surprise. She began to flip out, scurrying away from them, desperately trying to find a way out of the basement. "Wait, wait, wait. Hey, hey, Lenore, stop," Sam desperately tried to calm her down as the three others looked on.

"Look," Sam continued. "We're happy you're here."

"It's been a long time," Dean said, staring at her. Emily stared at her from her position behind Dean, slightly confused. "You remember us?"

"I remember," Lenore said, voice soft. "Your hunter friend almost killed me."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, uh, he turned into a vampire and I chopped his head off," Sam said.

"Yeah," Dean smiled, "with a razor wire. Wicked."

"Something's wrong with you," Emily muttered behind Dean.

Lenore sighed, "Well, that's something. What's going on? Why am I here?"

"Well, um," Sam pointed awkwardly at Castiel, "that's Cas. He's our friend. And Emily, our sister. And we need to talk to you. About Eve."

"_Eve_?" she asked sarcastically, eyebrows raised. "I have nothing to say about _Eve_."

"You sure about that?" Dean asked.

"I'm trying to say away from her, believe me."

"Where's your nest?" Sam asked.

Her reply was short. "Gone."

"What do you mean gone?" Emily asked curiously.

"I couldn't fight it anymore. It's her voice…in our heads…what it does to us. So they left, started killing again."

"But not you," Sam said proudly.

"Don't look so impressed," she spat. "I was hiding in a basement – not exactly club med. You don't know how hard it is not to give in. Everyone gives in."

"Alright," Dean interrupted. "So this physic two-way you got going…does that mean you know where Mom's camped out?"

"You've got to be kidding me," she scoffed. "You want me to tell you where she is? You do know she could be listening to us right now. I might as well be a video camera."

"So we don't have the element of surprise," Bobby's voice rumbled. "We're still going in."

"You're crazy," Lenore warned. "I can't help you."

"Can't or won't?" Sam asked. "Look – it's clear as day that you still give a crap. You don't want to kill, and you don't want this whole planet dead."

"You actually believe you can stop her?"

"Just tell us where she is."

She hesitated. "Grants Pass, Oregon. And now she knows you're coming."

"Well lets go see," Bobby said.

"Hold on," Lenore interrupted. "I didn't tell you this out of the goodness of my heart. I need something."

"What?" Sam asked warily.

"Kill me."

"Oh come on!" Emily exploded, turning on her heel to walk back toward the bullet shells.

"Look, we'll lock you down until this whole thing is over," Dean said. Witness protection – you'll be safe."

"You don't get it," she heard her the vampire say. "It's not about that. I'm dangerous. I hear her voice all the time."

"You're stronger than them," Sam insisted. "You're not like the rest of them."

"I fed, Sam!"

Knowing that there was no way this could end well, Emily swiftly climbed the stairs, shutting the door firmly behind her. As she poured herself a glass of water from the tap, she Dean walk in behind her. "Who did it?" she asked, sharpness to her voice.

"Hush," he muttered, kissing the top of her head. "Pack. We're leaving this afternoon."


	24. Chapter 24

There was a strong sense of vertigo exactly the same as when Castiel transported them to Wyoming before the five of them were standing on the sidewalk of a busy street with the voices of children in the background. There was a child riding his bike down the street as a fire engine was cleaned. Overall, the town just looked happy.

"Well, I was expecting more 'Zombieland,'" Dean voiced her thoughts, "less 'Pleasantville.'"

"Just cause it looks quiet don't mean it is," Bobby said pessimistically. "Especially if she's got a clue you're coming."

"Yeah, well if she is here, I'm glad we got Smitey McSmiterton on our squad," Dean said, gesturing to Castiel.

Emily stared at him, eyebrows raised. "What?"

"Nothing. Where do we start?"

"I'll need a computer," Bobby said, walking across the street to a small café.

"You can use mine," Sam said, following him.

As the five entered the café, the waitress led them to a booth before walking back into the kitchen. As they stared at the small booth, Dean cleared his throat. "Four six foot guys and a four foot girl…we can do this."

"I five four, asshole," she muttered, not taking her eyes off the table.

"Okay," Sam interrupted. "Bobby and Dean over there, Cas scoot in and Em can take the end."

"Fine," she agreed as they all packed into the tale. Her left leg was halfway of the bench.

Sam rummaged through his bag, pulling out an IPad. "Here," he said, handing it to Bobby.

"What the hell is this?" he asked clearly confused.

"It's a computer," Sam stated.

"It's not a computer. A computer has a keyboard," he explained, as if to a five year old.

"Just use it," Sam sighed as Dean began to order food.

As they all put in the orders, Bobby began poke-typing on the screen of the IPad, slight look of disgust on his face. "He's right, though, Sammy," Emily said. "I mean, what even is that?"

His head slowly turned to her, look of utter annoyance on his face. "It's a computer," he said slowly.

Slowly, over pronouncing every word, she said, "There's no keyboard."

Dean watched them argue back and forth, small smile on his face, for a couple minutes until the waitress brought the food out. "All right," Bobby finally said. "I finally got into the police database, not thanks to _this_," he gestured at the IPad. "I asked for a _computer_."

"It _is_ a computer," Sam argued.

"A computer has buttons, idjit."

"Okay, guys, enough," Dean interrupted. "Bobby, you got anything?"

He sighed, looking down at the screen, "Oh, nickel and dime stuff, nothing weird. Basically a dead end…you think Vampira was lying?"

Castiel suddenly spoke up. "I will search the town. Give me a moment."

As he stared blankly ahead, we all looked at him expectantly. "Cas," Dean interrupted hesitantly, "we can still see you."

"Yeah, I'm still here," the angel said.

"Okay…well you don't have to wait on us–" Castiel suddenly cleared his throat and scrunched up his face – "well now it just looks like you're pooping," Dean exclaimed, leaning back in the seat, giving up on the angel.

"Something's wrong," Castiel said.

"What, are you stuck?" Dean asked, eyeing him.

"I'm blocked," he admitted. "I'm powerless."

"You're joking," Dean pleaded, knowing full well Castiel had little to no humor.

"Something in this town, is, uh," the thought aloud, "it's affecting me. I assume it's Eve."

"So wait – Mom's making you limp?" Dean asked, not bothering to use a verbal filter. Emily had gotten used to it from their teenage years.

"Figuratively, yes," he said.

"How?"

"I don't know, but she is."

"Well that's great," Dean sighed frustratingly. "Without your power, you're basically just a baby in a trench coat."

Cas looked at the older Winchester for a moment, visibly confused, before staring dejectedly out the window. "I think you hurt his feeling," Sam whispered, looking over at the angel.

Suddenly, Bobby looked up from the IPad. "I got something here…maybe. I had to go federal to get it. A call went out from the local office to the CCD last night."

"About what?" Sam asked, clearly interested.

"A Dr. Silver called in an illness he couldn't identify," Bobby read off the screen. "Patient's a twenty five year old African American named…Ed Bright." He swiveled the IPad around to show the group a young, healthy looking man's picture on a driver's license.

"Well that's not much to go on," Dean muttered.

"It's the only lead, so…" Bobby began.

"Beggars can't be choosers," Dean finished. "Right, I get it. Alright, well…let's finish up."

As Dean called for the check, Emily tried again to sit fully on the both next to Sam. "What are you doing?" the younger brother asked, eyeing her curiously.

"Trying to fit…hang on – got it," she smiled up at him, grasping his arm tightly as to not lose her balance on the newfound perch.

"You're weird," he laughed down at her.

"Yeah…" she grinned, looking over at Dean who had one eyebrow raised at the both of them.

Bobby unceremoniously handed Sam the IPad, saying, "Here's your…_thing_."

"It's a computer, Bobby," he defended. "It helped, didn't it?"

"Barely!" he scoffed.

"Sam," she looked up at him. "It doesn't even have a keyboard."

"You know what–"

"Guys!" Dean immediately broke up the fight. "God, you're like two children. Get up, let's go."

Apparently, he had paid the check while they were arguing, and Bobby had pulled up the address of Dr. Silver on Dean's phone. "Come on Gigantor," Emily teased, sliding out of the booth.

Sam decided not to protest; he only sighed heavily as he stood up. The group followed Dean and Bobby outside, Castiel trailing behind. "The three of you," Dean said, gesturing to Bobby, Emily, and Sam, "go to Dr. Silver's house. Me and Cas will hit the office."

"Alright. You run into anything, you call, understand?" Bobby said firmly.

"Yes, sir," Dean replied on instinct. He stared into her eyes for a moment before spinning on his heel, Castiel following closely behind. "See ya in a bit," he called.

"Let's go," Bobby muttered, beginning to walk in the opposite direction Dean had gone.

Bobby's car was around the corner, and Sam slid in the back with Emily. Once they had driven a significant distance, Sammy asked quietly, "How you doing?"

"Fine, you?" she replied in the same tone so Bobby wouldn't hear.

"Good," he relied immediately. "Good. Uh…Everything good?"

"What's up, Sammy?" she asked, eyebrows furrowed as she looked up at him.

He seemed hesitant and nervous as he turned to her. "Dean – Dean told me about the tattoo, and I-I guess I was just wondering why you didn't tell us."

"Sam," she began, "I–"

"Emily," Bobby's voice came sharply from in front of them.

"Yeah?" she replied, voice at normal volume.

"When was your last real hunt? – now I don't mean seek and find, I mean real scuffle."

"I-I don't know, Bobby," she admitted. "It's probably been a bit. Why?'

"You gotta be able to handle yourself if things go south."

"Yeah, I know, Bobby."

His pointed gaze met hers in the rearview. "When we get back to the house, Dean and Sam are gonna get you back in fighting shape."

"Bobby, I never said I couldn't fight! It's just been a bit–"

"Sam, you hearing me?"

"I gotch you, Bobby," he replied. "We got her."

"Bobby, I can fight!" she insisted.

"We're here," Bobby announced, ignoring her protests.


	25. Chapter 25

"Dr. Silver, wife, two sons," Bobby noted, gazing at the picture they had snatched from the house. "Uh, oh," he sighed, causing Emily to look up.

An officer had pulled up in front of the house and was walking toward them. "Hi, there!" he called.

"Hi," Sam said, taking a step in front of Emily.

"Who are you?" the officer asked, stopping in front of the trio. The three flashed their fake FBI badges. "Is it causal Friday, agents?"

"We're on a case a few miles out. Got a call to come here," Sam explained.

"So how about you? What's your business?" Bobby asked.

"Oh, Dr. Silver's a friend of mine," the cop explained. "Heard he didn't show up for work today, so I thought I'd stop by – see if he's sick."

"Not sick, missing," Bobby corrected.

"Missing? Says who?" the officer asked suspiciously.

Bobby continued, "Says me. Empty house, no bags packed, car still in the driveway."

"How'd you get on this?'

"Oh, it's a long story," Bobby brushed him off. "Listen, why don't you put out an APB, and we'll compare notes down at the station. Sound good?"

"Uh, yeah…yeah," the officer turned back to the car, hastily getting in.

"Obliged," Bobby smiled.

"Wow," Sam smirked. "Talk about talking out of your butt."

"Yeah, just hurry ya idjits," he muttered, leading them back to the car.

Sam's phone began to vibrate as he moved to sit in the back with her again. "Dean." He paused. "What's the address? Uh huh…alright, meet you there." He ended the call with Dean before telling Bobby, "The vic, Ed Bright, is dead, they're going to talk with the roommate. He wants us to meet him at the apartment."

"Alright," Bobby shifted the car into drive, "Here we go."

As Sammy attempted to talk to her again, Bobby brought up the case, and the three ended up brainstorming possibilities, some of which were alien invasion, a new creature from the mother, and the taco bell zombie apocalypse. The three pulled up near the impala, walking over to the other two.

"So we got a missing doctor and an oozy patient, huh?" Dean greeted them

"I'm never going to get a normal hello, am I?" she sighed.

"Nope," the older Winchester winked.

"Dude," Sam sighed. "Let's just go see Ed's roommate."

"Does Ed Bright have a brother?' Castiel asked suddenly.

"No, why?" Bobby replied immediately.

"Then that's not his twin," he nodded toward the window where a man identical to Ed Bright was cautiously looking between the curtains.

"Sifter?" Sam asked as the man erupted into a coughing fit against the window.

Bobby sighed, "I don't know what we're looking at."

"Alright, Dean and I are gonna go in, you three stay and watch the door. Something comes out, shoot it," Sam proposed.

"Best guess, silver bullets," Dean muttered, reaching into his coat.

"Uh – I'm fairly unpracticed with firearms," Castiel interrupted hesitantly.

"You know who whines?" Dean asked, giving him a look. "Babies."

As Dean began to walk toward the door, Sam following closely behind, Emily burst out abruptly, "Dean."

"What?" he asked, slightly annoyed, turning to her.

"I don't like this. You guys could get ambushed or something – let Castiel go. Oh, stop the bitch-face, Cas, you're an angel, so you're can't die."

"Em," Dean said, eyebrows raised. "We'll be fine. Promise. Stay here."

As the boys tuned back toward the apartment, she moved to follow them before Bobby's hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Sweetie, they'll be fine, okay?"

She sighed, crossing her arms to wait. "Yeah, Bobby."

After what seemed like an eternity, they boys finally emerged from the house, Sam leading the way. Emily's chest immediately loosened at seeing them alive; Cas shot her a look she couldn't read.

"Well?" Bobby asked expectantly.

"Half a dozen people in there," Sam began, "all look like Ed Bright, all dead. We were able to talk to one guy, Marshall Todd, before he went."

"I don't get it!" Dean exclaimed walking through the front door. "What, a bunch of regular Joe's end up shifters? What the hell?"

"Shifters usually run in families," Bobby said. "This looks like an infection. Nobody touched nothing?"

There was a tense silence as the five stared at one and other. "Well, I'm bathing in Purell tonight," Dean grumbled.

Sam, quickly getting the topic away from possible danger, said, "So he said they met a girl."

"It's gotta be Eve," Dean replied.

Castiel asked, "But why would she do this?"

"Mommy monster," Bobby rationalized. "Make more."

"No, no, no, no, no…Cas has a good point," Dean said, eyebrows furrowed. "I mean, if she's gonna make a shifter army, then why make one that's sick, gooey, and dying?"

"Distraction?" Emily asked.

Sam looked at her. "From what?"

"Add that to the pile of crap that don't make sense," Bobby sighed.

"So should we hit the bar?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Let's go. Always the best gossip at the bars," Bobby mumbled, turning to walk back to the cars.

"Bobby," Dean asked, "could we trade off Cas and Em?"

"I do not understand," Castiel said flatly.

Dean looked over at the angel. "I just gotta talk to her, Cas, okay?"

He stared the older Winchester down for a few seconds before stating, "Very well," and began walking toward Bobby's car.

"Alright with me," Bobby said, following the angel.

Dean and Sam shot each other looks over Emily's head before the younger Winchester turned away. "Come on, Em," Dean said, opening the driver's door of the Impala.

"Yeah…" she said, slightly nervous at being alone with Dean after all that had happened. She climbed into the passenger seat, careful not to sit too close to him, and she mentally prepared herself for a heart-to-heart or a verbal beating.

As the engine roared to life and Dean pulled out onto the road, his voice said in a conversational tone, "So, Sammy was telling me that Bobby wants us to train you back up."

"Yeah," she said, caught off guard.

"I was thinking we'd go easy on you, just see where you are for now, alright?"

"Yeah, Dean."

He opened his mouth as if to say something but quickly shut it again. "Dean," she said hesitantly. "I-is that really what you wanted to talk to me about?"

He sighed, "That thing you pulled…before me and Sammy went inside and when we were in Wyoming." She nodded. "You can't do that again," he met her eyes.

"Dean–"

"Danger comes naturally with the job," he cut her off, "and we handle it when it comes along. Sometimes, people are just gonna die and you gotta choose the lowest number. And sometimes we can get in really dangerous situations. Now Sammy and I can handle it, and I know you can, too. But, Em, if you keep doing what you did today, one of these days…"

He trailed off and was silent for a few moments, his jaw set as he stared at the road. "Dean?" she asked, voice shaking slightly.

"One-one of these days, Emily…" he stared into her eyes as they pulled up to a red light, "I might just stay next to you…not go in." His piercing green eyes were pinned to hers in a desperate plea, what for she didn't know. "If you keep calling me back," he said softly, "one day I'm just gonna stay."

A car horn jerked his attention back to the road as he waved to the other driver in the rearview mirror. Sighing, he said, "We do this cause we've got to. We do this to save lives, help people. One day we're gonna get ganked, but not today, you understand?"

She nodded vehemently, staring at her shoes. He mouth opened, but she quickly shut it again. "Got it," she said instead of what her heart told her to. "Sorry."

He didn't reply, only pulled the car into the parking lot of the bar. As she reached for the handle, his large hand landed on her knee. Her eyes flashed from his hand to his face, locking their eyes. The intensity of his gaze frightened her as she tensed under his hand; he sighed, adjusting his focus to her hand. "I – never mind." In an instant, he was gone and reaching for the door. She took a moment to compose herself before stepping out of the car. the car.


	26. Chapter 26

Bobby's car had pulled up next to the Impala, and in a second Sam was standing next to her. "Hey," she smiled up at him, as if nothing had transpired between her and Dean.

"Hey." He was curious.

She ignored his inquiring look, instead gesturing to the bar. "Shall we?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Yeah…yeah."

As the group approached the door, Emily could sense something was wrong. "Guys, hang on – listen." The five immediately stopped, straining their ears.

"What?" Bobby asked.

"There's no music – no talking. Something's off," Dean grumbled, shoving open the doors. The scene before them looked like something strait out of a horror film. Bodies littered the room, covering the floor like a bloody carpet and hanging over the bar, some with glass shards sticking out of random body parts.

"Holy shit," she breathed, following the group who were carefully stepping over the bodies.

"The sheriff's a mook, but _still_…you'd think he'd notice this many missing folks," Bobby said.

"A lot of them have blood dripping from their mouths. You think…" she trailed off.

Dean glanced her way before grabbing a napkin from the bar and gently lifting the top lip of a dead chick. "We got a vamp over here," he announced. "Nope," his eyebrows raised as he lifted her wrist, "scratch that. We got a wraith. What the hell? What has teeth and a spike?"

"A crossbreed?" she asked. "Is that even possible?"

"I've never seen that in my life," Bobby muttered.

"Oh great, so Eve's making hybrids now?"

Bobby surveyed the bar. "Looks like."

"The question is why," Dean continued. "What does she want with a…what do you call these?"

"Well congrats. You discovered it, you get to name it."

"Jeffereson Starships," he announced.

Emily raised her eyebrows. "The band?"

"Yes! Because," he explained, grinning, "they're horrible and hard to kill."

"Well," Sam began, "looks like the whole bar has been turned into these–"

"Jefferson Starships," Dean smirked.

Sam scoffed, "Fine, but why are all the…S_tarships_ dead?"

"I can't say, but…looks like they all burned up," Bobby noted.

"Burned up?" Dean's eyebrows furrowed.

"Like high fever, the flu."

"Like Eddie's roommate," Emily put in.

"What's going on here?" Dean muttered. "Does every monster in this town have the motaba virus?"

"Hands where I can see them!" Several officers swarmed the bar, guns aimed at the group. Dean, who had been bent over examining a corpse, quickly ducked behind the bar.

"This is not what it looks like," Castiel stated.

"Look, sheriff, we're the feds," Bobby explained.

The sheriff advanced toward Bobby, stepping over several bodies. "Well _feds_ are not allowed to do _this_. Cuff 'em," he ordered. Turning back to Bobby, he snapped, "Turn around."

"You too, princess," a gruff officer pinned her hands behind her back.

"Do _not_ call me that," she spat.

"Whatever you say, _princess_."

"You sonabich!" she grunted, attempting to throw the officer off balance.

"Emily," Sam's voice was firm as he eyed her.

She knew that if they got to the station, Dean could get them out and they might be able to lean to what extent the cops knew what was going on. She huffed her discontent, but willingly let the officer guide her out the doors and across the street to the station. His grip was rough on her wrists, but she put up with it for Sammy.

Bobby was the first to be shoved against the door, pushing it open for the other officers to drag them inside. "Listen," Sam was saying, "if we can make a phone call, we can straighten this all out."

"Straighten out a massacre? I'd like to see you try."

Suddenly, Sam's head bashed against the sheriff, sending him to the floor. "Jefferson Starships!" he yelled, and Bobby immediately plowed the officer in front of him to the floor.

Emily kicked her leg up, foot connecting with the officer's groin. It immediately jumped to its feet, hissing at her, teeth extended. She couldn't move. All she could focus on was the teeth speeding to her throat, and she couldn't even blink.

At the last second, Dean's machete separated the monster from its head. "Thanks," she muttered, glancing around to room to see that all the other Starships had been killed or restrained.

"What the hell was that?" Dean exploded.

"Dean–" she attempted.

"You froze!"

"Dean!" Castiel stopped him. "In a moment. Keys?" he waved his hands, cuffed behind his back. "Let's deal with the remaining Jefferson Starship before you deal with her."

Dean spared her a passing glare before roughly frisking the sheriff for the keys; he went to Sam first, quickly snapping off the cuffs. Bobby was next, and he and Sam began to drag the Starship into the interrogation room. He moved to un-cuff Cas before turning to her; he hesitated. "You know what, stay here. Don't move," he turned away, following Sam.

"Dean–"

"Don't," he snapped, spinning to face her. "Don't. Not right now." He was fuming, his intense gaze pinning her down before walked away. Cas shot her a look as he followed Dean.


	27. Chapter 27

She sighed, bowing her head as she leaned against the wall, wrists still painfully bound together. What the hell was she thinking? She knew how to do this…it's just been a couple years since her last _big_ bust like this. She _did_ miss it, but she was nervous at the same time. Nervous for times like this when she let them down. "Sonabich," she muttered, leaning back to bang her head against the wall, closing her eyes. She screwed up. Big time. A knot of guilt in her stomach tightened at disappointing Dean.

"Emily," Sam's voice came from across the room.

Her head leveled as she stared back at him. He didn't move. "I'm sorry, Sammy," she muttered, gaze dropping.

"You should've told us if you weren't ready," he said, advancing toward her.

She sighed, "I thought I could handle it."

"I know." He was standing in front of her now. "Here." The keys jangled in his hand; he had snagged them from Dean. She turned around, resting her forehead against the wall as a sigh escaped her. She felt Sam's hands gently unlock the handcuffs, rubbing his thumbs across her sore wrists.

As his hands dropped away, she turned back around to face him. "I'm in deep shit, huh?" she muttered.

"Yeah," he confirmed quietly, staring down at her. The knot in her stomach grew. "Look, Em. You mean a lot to us, and to have anything thr–"

A door slammed down the hall, cutting him off. Her head jerked up to see the older Winchester angrily storming toward them. Sam backed away as Dean got closer. "What the hell was that?!"

"_Dean_–" she backed into the wall.

"Don't _Dean_ me!" he grabbed her shoulders roughly.

"I'm sorry!"

"Sorry's not going to do me any good when you're dead, you understand! That cannot happen again! What if I hadn't been there?! What am I gonna do if you–" he immediately backed off, hands clasped above his head as he turned his back to her.

She was silent as he stood there for a good minute. She watched his shoulders shake slightly, and shot a confused look at Sam who was staring intently at his brother. Sam moved to rest his hand on his brother's shoulder. She watched Dean tense before immediately relaxing, hands falling to his sides. "Look," he finally said, voice quieter. "I can't lose you again. You and Sammy are all I got."

He slowly turned around, revealing that he had been attempting to control the tears that threatened to escape the corners of his eyes. Somehow, seeing Dean this close to losing it was more frightening than anything she could imagine. "Princess, you…you can't do that to me again, okay?" his voice broke, and she immediately dropped her gaze to the floor, eyes stinging. Suddenly, she was enveloped in his arms, his lips resting on her head. "I _cannot_ lose you, understand?"

She nodded, swallowing hard as a tear slipped down her check to be absorbed by his shirt. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"I know."

He suddenly tensed as a clang resounded from another hallway. "More Starships," Sam muttered. Dean pulled away, blinking furiously as he drew his gun. "Stay here," Sam said firmly to Emily, following his brother, gun in front of him.

She hastily wiped the tears from her face before drawing her gun and hoisting herself up to sit on one of the dead officer's desks. Sniffing loudly, she began to fidget with the gun in her hand, nervously waiting for the boys to return.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dean burst through the door, announcing, "Got a couple of hungry, human boys here." Following him were two preteen kids, scared out of their minds, with Sam taking the rear.

"Does the station have a kitchen?" Emily asked to no one in particular.

Cas answered her, "I do not believe it does."

"Well, you know cops…they love a good doughnut," she winked at one of the boys, tugging a tight smile out of him. She proceeded to plunder through a few desks until she found a stowed box on candy underneath a pile of loose papers. "Who's hungry?" she asked, bringing the box back to the group.

As she approached and the boys were able to see the contents of the box, the younger brother's face lit up as he greedily grabbed a handful of candy bars, stuffing a few in his pockets before beginning to chew a blue one. She then held the box out for the older, but he only shook his head.

"You sure?" He nodded, looking down at the floor.

"This is Joe," Sam introduced, gesturing to the older boy, "and Ryan," the younger.

"Hey guys," she smiled warmly at them.

"So…" Sam began, pulling over a chair to sit straddling the back of it. "You two never heard the officers talk about a Mother or someone named Eve?"

Joe shook his head. "It was just me and Ryan in there."

"And your folks?" Dean asked.

"Cops said we were next," the older boy answered, glancing at his brother. "They said we were food."

Dean asked, "Do you have any other family?"

"An uncle in Merit."

"That's only like fifteen miles out of town," Emily suggested, glancing at Dean who met her gaze with a blank face.

"Okay," he turned back to the boys. "We'll get you there."

"Dean?" Castiel immediately stepped forward. "Can I have a word?" The older Winchester followed the angel out of earshot of the boys, but Emily always had excellent hearing, something she and Sam used to use in planning pranks on Dean. As Sam began talking to Joe, she strained to hear the other conversation.

"We need to find Eve _now_," Castiel hissed.

"Yeah," Dean answered as though it was obvious. "Me and Sam just gotta make a mile run."

"We need your help here."

"Hold your water. We'll be back in a few," Dean answered, turning back to them.

"Dean – Dean," Castiel stopped him. "_Millions _of lives are at stake here, not just two. Stay focused."

"Are you kidding?"

"There's a greater purpose here."

"You know, I'm getting a little sick and tired o-of the greater purposes, okay? I think what I'd like to do right now is save a couple of kids if you don't mind." Castiel seemed shocked and slightly taken aback. "We'll catch up."

"Okay guys, let's go," Dean nodded toward the group. "You," he pointed to Emily, "you're staying here. Come on," he slapped Sam on the back.

Getting up, Sam shot her a look. "Call me if anything happens."

"'Course," she muttered, biting her bottom lip.

Sam opened his mouth as if he was about to say something else before Dean called his name. "Gotta go." He walked past Dean, who stared at her for a moment, then turned away, letting the door close.

Castiel whirled around, stomping back into the interrogation room with Bobby. She sighed, glancing around the room, not knowing what she was looking for. There was nothing she could so to make it up to Dean, and nothing she could do to further the case. Her eyes settled on a couch sitting on the back wall, and a wave of fatigue suddenly washed over her. She moved to sit on the couch, which was much more comfortable than it looked, as she fought herself on what to do. The proper thing would be to keep watch while Castiel and Bobby were interrogating the Starship so nothing got in. Her body, however, told her everything would be fine, and she could take a nap. She tried to stay awake for them, she really did, but soon her eyelids grew heavy and she nodded off.


	28. Chapter 28

There was a hand stroking her hair, pulling her back to her senses…and a muted conversation in the background. As she strained, she could just make out what they were saying.

"She's sleeping?!" Dean hissed.

"She needs it," Bobby defended her.

"And she was sleeping while both of you were interrogating the Starship?"

"Yes, Dean." That was Castiel's simple answer.

"Why weren't you watching her?! She can't take care of herself right now!"

"Dean –"

"Dean," Castiel cut Bobby off. "Emily is much stronger than you give her credit for, and much stronger than she realizes. You are acting this way toward her because you are frightened she will be hurt or killed. Dean – she can take care of herself. We need you to focus on the mission."

"Cas, she's a ninety pound girl who probably hasn't fired a gun in years. _And she can take care of herself?!_ I can't let anything happen to her, and you know it."

"Just look at her, Dean!" Castiel insisted.

Suddenly, she felt as though she was having an out-of-body-experience. She looked over to the couch away from the group where she could see herself clinging to Sam's neck as he shot a pissed look at his older brother.

"She's scared," Castiel was saying. "She's afraid that you will never forgive her. She believes you will leave her behind again."

"Cas, we're not gonna–"

"She doesn't understand that!"

Emily could see herself again; Sam was rubbing her back. Suddenly the Emily in Sam's arms looked up, directly at her. With a strong wind, a vortex began to open in the floor, dragging her down into the darkness. There was something dark…evil and dangerous. Hiding in the shadows. She knew it was coming…getting closer. With a sudden feeling of falling, she jerked awake, pulling out the .45 from under the couch cushion. "_Woah_," Sam's hands were immediately on hers, pushing the gun away from himself. "It's just me, baby. I gotcha."

Her eyes focused as Sam's face came into view. "Sammy?"

"I gotcha," he crooned. "You okay?"

"Fine," she cleared her throat, clicking the safety back on the gun before letting Sam take it. She sighed, laying back on the couch, brushing her fingers through her hair. Dean, Cas, and Bobby were in an intense discussion across the room, and Sammy had just placed the .45 on a desk. "I'm sorry, Sammy," she muttered.

"Don't apologize for that," he insisted. "It's instinct. That's a good thing."

She sighed, glancing over to the group as her mind involuntarily flashed back to the dram. Was it a dream? They were defiantly too far away for her to her them… "Dean's pissed, huh?" she turned to Sam.

"He'll get over it, Em. He always does. You know that," he consoled, arm reaching out behind her shoulders to pull her into a half hug.

She abruptly pounced on him, throwing her arms over his shoulders and burying her face in his neck. "I really screwed up, Sammy."

He hesitated, as if unsure of what to do. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around her back. She felt a tear slip down her check and fall on the back of his neck. Immediately his arms tightened around her, pulling her closer to him. "Emmy, it's gonna be okay. Dean's not gonna be mad forever."

"I know, Sammy. I know," she muttered, sighing. "It's just….I just–"

"I know," he interrupted, stroking her back.

Something wasn't right. She could feel it in the room. Emily pulled her head away, staring at the group. Her mind flashed back to the dream again, and the feeling faded. _Whoa_…

"What's wrong?" Sam pulled her back to reality.

"N-nothing," she stared up at him. "Can I braid your hair one day?"

"It's not that long is it?"

She smirked, "It's not that bad, Rapunzel."

He smiled back at her. "All better?"

She sighed, swinging her legs over the side of the couch. "Let's go kill the bitch."

"That's my girl," he stood up, towering over her, and offered her a hand. Something in her swelled with pride at Sam's remark as she gratefully took his hand. "Come on." He led her over to a table near the interrogation room where Dean had laid out the guns. The conversation stopped as she approached. Dean stared at her for a moment before glanced to Castiel then looking at Sam. She was sure they were having a facial-conversation over her head.

"So," Bobby broke the silence, "we've got a location. Now we just need to get close enough to take a shot."

"All right…" Dean said. "Well, let's all take two." He proceeded to hand out the shells they had filled earlier that day. "Load 'em up. Make 'em count." His hand brushed hers as he handed her the rounds. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds before he looked down; he was nervous.

She grabbed a gun from the table, swiftly loading the bullet into the chamber and cocking it back. The group began to file outside for the long walk downtown to 25 Buckley Street. She mostly stayed at the back of the group, Sam beside her.

"You gotta be kidding me," Dean exclaimed as they arrived at the old diner where they had lunch. "She's been in there the whole time?" Ervine's Dinner…

"Why'd she ever let us in?" Sam asked. "Or out."

"Well, there's one way to find out," Dean muttered.

Bobby raised his eyebrows. "What, just stroll in? We don't know who's human or who's her."

"Well, there's one way to draw her out." She looked up at Dean, awaiting his idea. "Me and Sam will go in."

"Dean!" she exclaimed.

"Look, if we don't get a shot off, you three better," he refused to meet her eyes.

"That's the plan?" Bobby asked, dumbfounded.

Dean sighed, looking back at the dinner. "Yeah…Pretty much."

Sam handed his bag to Bobby as Dean shouldered his, walking toward the dinner. "Dean–" she called.

He spun around, pointing a finger at her, his stare immobilizing her. "Remember what we talked about," he said icily. "_Don't_." He opened his mouth to say something more, but instead turned around to follow Sam into the dinner.

She moved to follow them before Bobby's hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Listen, kid. If the angel's batteries weren't fried, you'd be back at home. So stick here, and don't get killed, you understand me?"

Although Bobby was blunt, she knew he meant exactly what he said, and there was sincere emotion in his eyes. "Alright," she grumbled, watching the door close behind her boys.

After a minute, the blinds began to close, preventing them from knowing the condition of the brothers. She moved toward the dinner as Bobby roughly grabbed her arm. "Bobby, they need help!"

"Not yet, they don't. And I'm not losing you!" he pulled her back.

She muttered something under her breath, crossing her arms.


	29. Chapter 29

They waited in intense silence for what felt like hours but in reality it was only a few minutes. Suddenly she was grabbed from behind and the gun was forced from her hands. She grunted, furiously trying to fight him off before she saw that Bobby and Castiel had already given up the fight. Bobby's gaze told her there was nothing they could do. The Starships led them through the backdoor of the bar, Castiel first, Bobby, then Emily. She met Dean's gaze, but there was no anger, only intense concern.

There must have been about fifteen Starships and the mother to their four and a broken angel; they were grossly outnumbered. Eve was a blond woman in her late forties, dressed in the yellow waitressing uniform. She immediately recognized her from the brothers' old photos; it was there mother. She shot a confused look at the boys. Neither looked at her. "Well, so much for your plan B," she announced as they were led into the room. "And you," she turned to Castiel, "wondering 'Why do flaccid?' I'm older than you, Castiel. I know what makes angels tick. As long as I'm around, consider yourself…unplugged." He simply stared her down, as if begging her to make a move.

"Work for me," Eve turned back to the two brothers. "It's a good deal." They weren't convinced. She sighed, "Bonus, I won't kill your friends."

"All right, look," Dean interrupted. "For the last few months, we've been working for an evil dick. We're not about to sign up for an evil bitch." _Dean, nice negotiating skills. What the hell are you doing?!_ "We don't work with demons," he spat. "We don't work with monsters. And if that means you gotta kill us, then kill us!"

"Or," Eve spoke, "I'll turn you, and you do what I want anyway."

"Beat me with a wire hanger, answer's still no."

She was suddenly behind Dean, nails digging into his leather jacket. "Dean!" she screamed, jerking out of the Starship's grasp. Not expecting her sudden outburst, he was much less prepared than he should've been. She was sprinting toward the mother before a big guy grabbed her from behind, lifting her off her feet. Sam was being held back by two Starships as well, one on each arm.

Dean shot her a look: _don't move_. She stopped struggling, but her eyes were wide with fear.

"Don't…Test…Me," Eve muttered in his ear.

"Bite me."

"Dean!" Castiel shouted as she furiously tried to free herself from the Starship, thrashing around and biting any part of him she could reach. Eve suddenly backed away, couching and panting, holding her hand over her mouth as blood seeped from Dean's neck.

"Phoenix ash," Dean stood up, hand covering the bite. "One shell…one once of whiskey…down the hatch." Her features began to distort as she doubled over, clutching her chest where a soft flickering began to glow from underneath her skin. "Little musty on the after-burn. Call you later, Mom."

Eve suddenly transformed into a teenage girl with brown hair, black veins reaching toward her face from her scalp as she continued to gasp for air. They could only watch as black liquid dripped down her face, the lightning in her chest growing brighter until she finally collapsed to the floor. All at once, the Starships began to attack, pulling and scratching at the human closest to them.

"Shut your eyes!" Castiel yelled over the snarling. Sam immediately threw himself over Emily, pulling her into his arms facing away from the angel. She could sense a blinding light before Sam's vice grip loosened signing that it was safe. She immediately pushed him away, eyes frantically searching for Dean. He had reclined back against the bar, perched on a stool, gripping his neck. She was immediately at his side whipping out an old bandana from her pocket that he could use to absorb the blood.

"I'm fine princess," he grunted, pressing the cloth to his neck.

"What the hell were you thinking, Dean? What, do you have a death wish you moron?" she asked, wanting to help but unsure of how to proceed.

"Hey, Cas…uh," she heard Sam begin, "Dean's bleeding pretty good."

"I thing she turned me into Jefferson Starship," Dean chuckled. "Could you clear that up, too?"

With a single touch of Dean's shoulder, Castiel was able to completely heal Dean. "Thanks Cas," she breathed, gazing at Dean's now unbroken skin.

"All right," the older Winchester stood up. "We're good. We gotta go. Now."

"Where?" Castiel asked incredulously.

"The kid," he admitted. "The little kid. He's one of them."

Castiel rolled his eyes dramatically. "Unbelievable."

"Yeah, I know, Cas. You told me. Let's just go, alright?" Dean snapped.

The angel shook his head disapprovingly, but soon they were all standing in a dark living room with a bloody, dead body lying in the middle of the floor. "So, we kill the wicked witch and she _still_ wins," Dean remarked, jaw set. "I mean, they could've turned half the town by now – don't say it," he snapped to Castiel who had opened his mouth.

"Found 'em," Bobby's call came from down the hall. She immediately followed the brothers to a door leading to the basement. Ryan's mouth was dripping with blood as he lay on the floor, halfway out the door, eyes wide open to stare blankly at the ceiling.

"Who ganked them?" she faintly heard Dean ask. The heartbeat pounding in her ears made it difficult to hear anything.

She watch Sam as he knelt down over the bodies to touch a small pile of yellow dust. "Demons."

"I…I need some air," she breathed, walking away from the group to fling open the front door and propel herself down the front steps. It took everything she had not to lose her lunch.

Even outside, she could vaguely hear the conversation the four were having.

Dean had said something about the demon Crowley being alive which seemed to confuse Castiel. "I am an angel. I will look into it immediately," he said.

"Cas!" Apparently he had flown away, as Dean called out, "Well, let us know what you find out!"

There was a pause before Bobby asked, "How _did_ Crowley get away? I mean, It's not like Cas to make mistakes like that, unless…"

"Unless what?" Dean prodded.

"Unless he meant to."

"Bobby, this is Cas we're talking about. Do _you_ believe this?" There was a long pause. "Sam?"

"Look, it's probably nothing, it's just…You know what? You're right; it's probably nothing."

There was another long silence as she attempted to steady her breathing. She noticed that Castiel had teleported the cars to the street outside the house. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the unblinking gaze of the dead boy staring straight ahead. And the fact that she had given him a candy bar just a few hours ago…

A shrill ring from her cell phone jerked her back to reality. She glanced at the screen, a look of confusion crossing her face as she registered the contact. "Hello?"

"E…ly!" A woman's voice on the other end was interrupted by static.

"Jenny? Is that you?" she asked.

"Tha…od you picked up! It's Lucas." Emily's heart froze at the name. "He…" she faded out.

"I can't hear you," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Jenny, what did he do?"

"…back…kids and I don't…help. You need…here."

"Jen, I'm on my way, okay? Hang on."

"Em…here," a new tone of panic had entered her voice. "Oh m…here."

A scream suddenly reached her ears through the static before there was only scilence. "Jenny! Jen are you there?"

The static was gone, and she strained to hear anything over the line. "Jen?!"

"Close but not cigar, love." His voice seemed to drain all the energy out of her as an icy fear filled her.

"No. It's not you. I…no."

Some part of her registered that the boys and Bobby had come outside and were listening to her end of the conversation, but she could only focus on his accented voice. "Yes, love. And Jenny, well…she's indisposed."

"If you touch her, I swear to God–" she hissed.

"Calm down, little one. You're cute when you get angry."

"Go screw yourself."

"Yeah? Why don't you come get me?" The line went dead.

The boys were looking at her expectantly. "I need help," she admitted, pocketing her phone as calmly as she could. "Sun River, Montana."

"We'll take the impala. You two, see what you can dig up on Cas," Dean said almost immediately.

"What's going on?" Bobby asked as the two began walking to the car.

"I'll call you on the way, fill you in. It sounded urgent," Dean answered for her.

"Be careful guys," Sam said, eyeing them.

"Don't worry, Sammy," Dean winked, getting in the car. As soon as the engine roared to life, Dean told her, "Okay, spill. What's going on?"

Her hands were shaking slightly as she said, "Uh…I told you about Lucas Fuller?"

"Yeah. You said you killed him."

"Yeah. I…I don't know what the hell…"

"Emily, what's going on?"

"I stayed with Lucas for a year and a half. While I was there, he introduced me to his friends, and a couple of us really hit it off...


	30. Chapter 30

The warm sun through the impala's windshield woke her the next morning. She sighed, blinking her eyes open to find that she was sprawled across the front seat, head on Dean's lap; one of his arms was draped lazily across her. A small sound escaped her lips as she breathed out, pulling the Winchester's gaze to her. "Moring, princess," he greeted her softly.

She smiled up at him and mumbled, "What time is it?"

"About nine."

From the position of her head, she could feel the vibrations of his voice. "Why didn't you wake me up?" her forehead wrinkled in concern for him. "You could've slept, Dean."

"But then you wouldn't of slept," he argued, eyes back on the road. "You needed it."

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment before pulling herself up into a sitting position. Dean moved both hands to the steering wheel, leaving a cold, tingling feeling along her side where his arm had been. Leaning against the window, she saw a sign for a rest area a mile and a half ahead. "Pull over at the next stop," she told him. "I gotta pee."

He nodded, and, a minute later, pulled into a desolate parking lot with more cracks than pavement. They took turns watching the car as the other used the barely functioning restrooms. By the time Dean was walking back toward her, Emily had started the car and was sitting, seatbelt on, in the front seat. "Alright, princess, out," he ordered, quickly scanning the parking lot once more.

"Nope. You need some shut eye, and I know the area better than you do," she argued. He crossed his arms glaring down at her. "You can pick the music," she added in a sing-song voice.

Dean sighed. "You wake me up when we're half an hour away, you understand me?"

"Yes, Dean," she smiled, mentally high-fiving herself.

Grumbling something under his breath, he climbed in the passenger seat, sticking his shades on and crossing his arms. The drive to Sun River brought back memories of when she originally found the small town in the middle of nowhere. It was dark that night. And windy – there was a bitter wind that had starting ripping through the area, and with it came a ferocious storm. Barely able to see ten feet in front of her and crawling at about twenty five miles an hour, she was forced to pull into the parking lot of an old bar. **Ramble Inn **was painted in bright yellow, cursive letters across the front of the building. She quickly pulled the key out of ignition, but stayed in the car for a moment, weighing her options. The drive to Great Falls seemed too risky, but she didn't want to trap herself in this small town overnight. She sighed, checking to ensure that her gun was loaded before pulling the hood of Dean's old sweatshirt over her head and throwing open the door. Hopping out of the truck, she sprinted to the bar's front door, taking a moment to shake herself off before stepping inside.

The bar was mostly deserted with a few people scattered her and there, and a young couple was playing pool across the room. A few heads turned in her direction as she let in the blast of wind, but, as she made her way to the bar, their gazed turned back to their own bottles. "What can I getcha?" the bartender asked. She looked young, early twenties, with long blond hair and an endearing grin.

"Coke, please," she smiled, shifting her weight onto a bar stool.

"Coming right up."

Soon enough, a large glass of soda slid into her open hands, and she immediately began sipping on the straw. "Name's Jen."

"Emily," she stuck her hand out to the older woman who quickly shook it.

"You ain't from round here, are ya?" Jen asked, glint in her eye.

"No, ma'am. Kansas. I'm just didn't think I should drive any more till it's decided to calm down a bit outside," she said.

"That might not be for a while, hon. The weatherman says the storm's building. Should last two or three days like this," she said, leaning on the bar. Emily's face fell. Jen's voice lowered as she asked, "Kid, how old are you?"

"Turned twenty one last month," she said, slight defensive tone in her voice. She gave her a disapproving look, but Emily refused to budge.

"Whatever you say, hon," Jen gave in, moving to offer a refill to another customer. Later that night, Emily had settled down in the truck with an old blanket wrapped around her when there was a sharp knock on the window; it was Jen. Emily stayed at her place that night, and for another year after that as she fell in love with the small town.


	31. Chapter 31

"Dean," Emily gently woke him up with her hand on his shoulder. "Dean."

With a sharp intake of breath, he jerked awake, quickly taking in his surroundings. They were driving up Route 200 in Montana, brown and green fields as far as their eyes could see. "Where are we?"

"Fifteen minutes outside of Sun River."

"Em–" he shot her a look.

"I know, I know – can it. You need sleep, too." She sighed, "The bag on the floor's for you." He reached between his feet to pick up a brown paper bag, the name of his favorite burger chain stamped on the front. "Should still be warm."

"Thanks, princess," he muttered, taking a huge bite of the burger. Now that Dean was awake, she was able to turn up the classic rock playing over the radio. "You want to tell me a few details so I know what I'm getting us into?" he asked through a mouthful of meat.

"Uh, yeah – sure. I stayed up here for a bit when I was eighteen. Jen – I was on the phone with her – let me be her roommate for a year. Through her, I met her friend group and Lucas. We all thought he was really sweet, the wouldn't-hurt-a-fly-type," she told him, keeping her eyes on the road. "Jen and I got closer, and I got closer with Lucas, too. He used to leave on these business trips sometimes for a couple weeks at a time. Soon, we started going out. That lasted for a month or two before I found everything in his basement – the guns, maps, symbols. It all made sense. I confronted him about it and tried to leave. He jumped me, and…and I took care of him. Jen was supportive, but I had to leave. Too many memories, you know? I mean, I trusted the guy."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Dean muttered, tossing the empty, greasy wrapper in the paper bag.

"Anyway, we had him cremated, and I just never looked back. So, I suppose there could be something in The House that his spirit is still clinging to, or someone tried to bring him back…I don't know, Dean," she sighed.

"We'll figure it out, princess," he promised.

They drove in silence for a couple more miles before she finally turned off the highway to a dirt road. "The House is up here," she explained. After about half a mile of barren farmland, the landscape began to sprout a few trees. After another minute or two, she pulled the impala up in front of an old house framed by trees. It was two stories, and had white shutters to go with the blue siding – or they would have been that color if it wasn't for what looked like years of neglect. The lawn was overgrown, and some of the windows were broken, replaced with white plastic sheets. There was an old wooden sign out front hanging from one rusty hook – the other had broken long ago. It read, **The House: Waywards Welcome**.

"What the hell is this place?" Dean asked, stepping out of the car to get a better view.

"The House. Home sweet home," she muttered, staring at it for a moment before moving past Dean. "Come on." They walked up the stone path, overgrown weeds tickling her legs. The front porch creaked under their feet as Emily knocked on the door: one, three, two.

There was a shuffling on the other side of the door before a man's voice said, "Home is where family is."

"And family don't mean blood," she answered swiftly.

As the person on the other side of the door began opening several locks, Dean muttered, "What the hell was that?"

"Some of the kids they bring in have drug problems, so that's to make sure that we're not DCF, or the cops or something like that," she whispered.

Suddenly, the door swung opened revealing a scruffy, black haired man about twenty years old. He was a couple inches taller than Emily with his hiking boots on. Surprise blossomed across his face as he stared at Emily. "Hey Jake-y boy," she smiled.

"That really you, muffin breath?"

"Yeah, pipsqueak, it's me." She was suddenly wrapped in his arms; she hugged him tightly back before Dean cleared his throat. He pulled away, looking over at Dean.

"Jake, this is my brother, Dean. Dean, Jake," she introduced them.

"Dean?" he asked incredulously. "_The_ Dean?"

"Yeah. Listen, is Amanda here?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah. Should be upstairs with 'eryone else. C'm on in," he held the screen door open for them as the two stepped inside. The front door entered into a dusty, dimly lit living room with an old television set softly playing cartoons in the corner.

Out of nowhere, two a little girl came barreling around the corner followed closely by a boy who looked about a year or two older than her. "This is Kathrine and Little Joe," Jake said as the girl hid behind his legs. "Guys, say hi. This is Emily and Dean."

A grin spread across Emily's face as the girl quietly said, "Hewwo," before popping a thumb in her mouth.

"Hey, sweetie," she grinned, crouching down to Kathrine's height. "Are you guys having fun?" she asked looking over to Little Joe.

"We're playing tag," the boy explained, looking over at the girl. Kathrine squealed, gripping Jake's leg tighter.

"Guys, could you go get Amanda for me?" Jake asked the two kids.

"Sure," Little Joe answered, walking back the way he came before calling back to the girl. "Kathrine, come on!"

"Time ouwt?" she asked cautiously.

"Time out," he answered. She squealed loudly again, sprinting after him; they could hear the kids stomping all the way upstairs.

Emily turned back to Jake. "You here about Lucas?" his face had turned serious.

"Let me talk to Amanda about that."

"Quit tryin to protect me, Em. I'm older now," he insisted.

She sighed, "I know, I know. Force of habit, you know?"

"Yeah."

"Just…are ya gonna make him go away for good this time? Do whatever the hell you guys do?"

"Yeah, kid. Promise. For good."

"Good." Jake paused, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hey, glad you finally found 'im," he gestured at Dean.

"Yeah," she smiled, looking over at Dean who seemed a little lost at the moment as he tried to piece everything together. "Finally."

"Hey, I'm gonna go check on the kids. It's uh…it's nice to see ya 'gain, muffin breath," he smiled.

"You too, pipsqueak."


	32. Chapter 32

As soon as Jake left the room, Dean asked quietly, "Do they know what we do?"

"A few of them," she turned to look at Dean. "Oh, don't look at me like that! There was an old woman down the street who bought a used car that was possessed by a spirit. What was I supposed to do, let her get into a wreck? And then one of the kids that came here had high level ESP, and she was attracting all kinds of shit. I gave her a few wards and things to help her out. And Amanda knows a bit of voodoo, so it wasn't that new to her."

"And they know about me, too?"

"Not many details; I just told them the normal story."

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Okay…okay, sorry. Uh…why muffin breath?"

A smile spread across her face. "Jake used to hate muffins for some reason, and one morning I was eating one for breakfast. He started going 'ewww!' so I chased him around The House, breathing on him," she laughed. "I know, I know – it was stupid."

"I think it's adorable," Dean grinned at her.

Footsteps on the stairs drew their attention before a middle-aged woman in a loose-fitting dress came into view. Her brown hair would occasionally catch the light and shine silver. "Amanda," Emily smiled.

"Emily," she greeted in a breathy tone, sweeping her into a hug. "How are the nightmares, love?"

"Better. Can we talk outside?" Emily asked.

"Of course, of course." Amanda seemed to float along the ground as she moved toward the doorway. They followed her outside as she gracefully sat down on the creaking porch swing before turning to them.

Emily made sure the door was shut firmly behind them before she asked, "Have you seen Jen lately?"

"Emily," Amanda began gently, "she's gone."

"What do you mean _gone_?"

"Disappeared. I was with her yesterday morning, watching the kids. It was her turn for grocery run. She pulled out of the driveway, and I haven't seen her since. It's not like we can call the cops, not with what we have going on," she trailed off. Emily took the older woman's hands in hers, offering what support she could. "I was going to call you today, but…well, here you are," she tried to smile.

"Jen called me. She said something about Lucas," Emily said carefully, gauging Amanda's reaction.

The woman's face went pale before she hung her head. "So it's true."

"What do you mean?"

"I had a feeling…I knew something was coming, I should've–"

Emily immediately interrupted, "It's not your fault, Amanda. I know whose, if it _is_ anyone's fault. Shit happens, okay? I gonna get her back, I promise."

Amanda looked up adoringly at her. "I know you will, darling. I have faith." Her hand moved to Emily's cheek, stroking it gently.

"Ammy," Emily said quietly, dropping her gaze to her intertwined hands. "Y-you should probably go look after the kids. D–" she cleared her throat "–Dean and I are gonna go find Jen, okay?"

Looking slightly dejected, she dropped her hand from Emily's face, pausing a moment before standing up. "You're right." She stuck out her hand to help the younger woman to her feet. "I'll go watch the little ones."

Emily sighed, moving to Dean's side before Amanda called out to her. One foot inside the house, she had turned back around to face her. "Just…be careful, darling."

"'Course," she smiled back. "Is The House still secure?"

"I checked last week, and everything was still in order. I'll check again today."

"Okay," Emily said quietly. "See you."

"Till next time, love," Amanda closed the door.

Emily's face suddenly went cold as she turned back to the impala. "What the hell was that?" Dean hissed, opening the car door.

She slammed the door, waiting for Dean to start the car. "What?"

"T-the touching, and the 'darling,'" he imitated.

"She…she's got a thing for me, Dean."

"A thing?!"

"Yes! A _lesbian_ thing. Now can you drive?!" she crossed her arms.

"D-drive…right," he seemed stunned, turning the key in the ignition on autopilot.

Emily leaned back in into the corner of the car, leaning on the door. "Em, are you sure you ganked the guy right?" She immediately looked insulted, shooting him a glare. "I'm just saying – you were eighteen, nighteen, been out of the game for two years, you might've forgotten something."

She sighed, staring out the window. "I didn't gank him Dean."

"The bastard's still alive?! I though you said–"

"I never said he wasn't dead! I just said I'm not the one who pulled the trigger. It was one of the angels I mentioned before Wyoming. It's how I met them."

"Them?"

"Yeah…them."


	33. Chapter 33

**_Seven years ago_**

"No…back off, Lucas!" she screamed, tightly gripping the knife Dean had given her three years ago to the day.

"You're not going anywhere, _princess_," he spat, never breaking his step, advancing toward her.

When he was a foot away, she snapped, planted the knife deep into his chest. Lucas simply paused, gazing down at the red stain blossoming over his T-shirt before looking back up at her. "Now that wasn't very nice, was it?"

As he reached out his hand, a pair of arms was suddenly surrounding her, her bloodied face pressed into someone's chest. "Shut your eyes!" a furious voice called, not belonging to the body holding onto her. There was a blinding flash before the man's arms loosened, and she immediately pulled away.

Instantly on guard, she saw that the living room where she had been fighting Lucas was gone, replaced by a large bedroom, lavishly furnished, with a king-sized bed in the middle of the room. The man that had been holding on to her looked to be in his late forties with blond hair and a light beard. He was wearing a black blazer and a silky purple V-neck with jeans and polished boots. "Are you alright?" he asked with a thick British accent.

"What the hell are you?" she asked, glancing around the room once more, looking for the second man, the one who had spoken earlier.

"My _name_ is Balthazar," he said, taking a step toward her, only to have her counter, taking a step back.

"You didn't answer my question. What are you?" her voice wavered, despite her best efforts to put on a brave face.

He sighed, "I'm an angel, love."

"Bullshit."

"Hey!" he reprimanded, looked intensely offended. "Do not swear!"

"There's no such thing as angels."

Balthazar only shrugged his shoulders as if to say, _Well, here I am_. Suddenly, a second man appeared behind him out of nowhere. She screamed, backing up as far as she could, sandwiching herself between the wall and the bed. The second man, whose back had been turned, spun around to face her, her bloody knife in his hand, causing her eyes to go wide. His eyebrow furrowed before realization dawned on his face, and he looked down at blade, then back at her.

"Ohhh…no, this is yours, beautiful. I thought you'd want it." He moved to take a step forward, but she jumped, causing him to stop in his tracks. "Okay, okay," he crooned. "I'm just gonna put this over here for now, alright?" He slowly walked over to a dresser on the other side of the room, making a show of putting the knife down. "There. Better?"

"L-let me go back," her voice wavered slightly. The two men – angels? – shared a confused look.

"He's dead, Emily. He's gone," Balthazar told her.

A panic flared in her chest. "How do you know my name?"

"Now you've done it," the second angel said, throwing up his hands. He had long dirty blond hair, falling to about his shoulders. He dressed like the Winchester brothers, maroon shirt covered by a green jacket and a well-worn pair of jeans.

"Listen, love, we have a lot to talk about," Balthazar said. "Why don't you sit down–"

"Bring me back."

The older looking angel sighed, glancing to the second for support. "Why do you wanna go back there so bad?" the long haired angel asked. "Guy was a dick." She looked down at the floor, swallowing the growing lump in her throat. "Crap, now _I've_ done it!"

"Please. Just take me back."

"Why?" Balthazar asked.

"I…I need to get some stuff…t-that I left in the house."

The two angels looked at each other for a moment. "Very well," Balthazar sighed.

As he took a confident step forward, she flinched. "What are you doing?"

"Sending us back," he replied as though it was obvious.

"C-can't we – I don't know – _drive_, or something?" she wearily eyed his outstretched arm.

He chuckled to himself. "Honey, we're in Rome."

Her eyes went wide as her mind told her that couldn't be possible. "What?!"

"You know, _Rome_. It's right in the middle of Italy."

"I know where Rome is," she snapped.

"Come on," he said softly, reaching out again only to have her flinch away. "Do you want to go back or not?" he asked, clearly annoyed.

She immediately felt guilty. "I-I'm sorry, I–"

"Now, hang on, Balthy," the second angel interrupted. "Let's take it slow. Em, he got you a couple places during the fight, am I right?" She glanced at the first angel before looking back at the long haired one, not answering his question. "_Right_," he said, looking rather uncomfortable, "…angels can heal people, too. I want to fix you up before we go anywhere, okay?"

She swallowed, glancing between the two angels, immediately feeling terrified as the second angel claimed her attention. "Can you sit on the bed for me?" the long haired one asked.

Slowly, she slipped out of the corner, past the first angel, to stand in front of the bed. "I-I don't want to stain the mattress," she said quietly, referring to the blood covering her clothes.

"Don't worry about the bed," he insisted, carefully moving to stand in front of her.

She complied, sifting her weight to sit on the edge of the mattress. Looking up, she jumped at how close the angel had gotten. Her eyes momentarily flashed to Balthazar, who was standing a short distance away, watching the scene unfold. "You good?" the second angel pulled her focus back. She nodded, swallowing another lump in her throat. Her heart jumped as she saw his hand begin to move toward her, but she forced herself to sit still and ignore her instinct to run in fear of what he might do. She couldn't help but flinch slightly as his warm palm made contact with her cheek, fingers unintentionally tickling the back of her neck. His thumb gently stroked her face, and her gaze flashed up to meet his sparkling, caramel eyes. She was sure he felt her swallow nervously again and her heartbeat jump. He gave her a small smile before a warmth began to fill her body head to toe. She gasped, closing her eyes as she could feel her flesh knitting together, old scars smoothing over, and aches and pains that had become normal for her fading away. It wasn't uncomfortable – the opposite, really. She could feel herself lean her head on his hand, relaxing into his touch as her muscles loosened and the bumps from broken bones dissolved.

"Why don't you stay here tonight, and we can go back to the house in the morning," he proposed, voice soft as to not ruin the mood.


	34. Chapter 34

**_Seven year ago cont._**

"Why don't you stay here tonight, and we can go back to the house in the morning," he proposed, voice soft as to not ruin the mood. She hesitated, eyebrow furrowing as she thought about Dean's sweatshirt. Seeing her internal battle, he gently pulled his hand away, causing her to open her eyes, the warmth fading from her body. "If you feel like you need to, we can go back tonight," he offered.

She nodded, smiling shyly up at him. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"Anytime, sweetheart," he smiled, offering her a hand to pull her off the bed. She carefully stood, but he refused to let go of her hand. "Close your eyes." Still not trusting them, she glanced over at Balthazar before looking back at the angel grasping her hand. "Come on. I gottch ya," he gave her a small smile.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she felt a breeze flow through her hair before he suddenly let go of her hand causing her eyes to flash open. The three were standing in front of the small house, the angel smiling down at her. "See? Not that bad. I'm a pretty smooth flyer."

She gave them a small smile before turning to the house. "C-could I go in alone?" she asked.

"Take all the time you need, love," Balthazar spoke up.

"Thanks," she muttered, being to walk up to the front door.

"And _that's_ how you do it," she heard the long haired angel say to Balthazar.

"I wasn't _that_ awful," he defended himself.

"Dude, she was terrified and you were getting annoyed at her!"

"I'm new at this! How on Earth am I supposed to know what to do?! Dad knows I'm surprised that _you_ of all people know how to handle this."

"I practically raised _you_, little bro." She let the conversation fade as the stepped through the front door. Lucas was lying in the middle of the living room, face down on the stained carpet. Cautiously stepping closer, she nudged him with her foot, half expecting him to wake up and kill her. He didn't. She crouched down to the floor, pushing his shoulder so the body would roll over. She jumped back, scream catching in her throat as he slumped face first in the carpet. His eye sockets had been burned out, leaving bloody, smoldering holes where his piercing blue eyes should have been. She took a moment to collect herself before making her way upstairs to her bedroom. Dean's sweatshirt was lying on her bed; she was surprised that, after three years, it still smelled faintly of him. She sighed, grabbing her go-bag she had packed at the foot of her bed out of habit shoving Dean's sweatshirt inside the bag. Taking one last look at the room, she turned away, making her way to the garage where she knew Lucas kept two full five gallon gasoline tanks. Backpack over her shoulders, she dragged the gasoline into the living room before covering Lucas's body head to toe with salt from the kitchen. Tossing the empty canister aside, she began drenching his body in the foul smelling liquid before pouring it up the stairs, covering the carpets in their bedrooms. Emptying both gasoline tanks, she moved back to the kitchen. Using a pad they had in the kitchen, she wrote:

Amanda,

I'm okay. Lucas tried to kill me. I never want to deal with him again,

so I burned everything. I gotta go, Ammy, and I can't look back.

Thank you for taking me in and giving me a home. I'll never forget you.

I'll be forever in your debt. Give everyone my love.

Emily

She ripped the paper off the pad, shoving it in her pocket before opening one of the windows in the living room. Glancing one last time at the house, she walked out the front door, catching the angels' eyes before walking toward the open window, pulling an old lighter from her pocket. Making sure it was lit, she tossed it through, watching Lucas's body immediately ignite, the fire quickly spreading to the furniture.

Before she had a change to turn around, the two angels were immediately by her side, flying her away from the house. "What the hell are you doing?!" the long haired one seemed furious.

"Are you insane?!" Balthazar cried, accent thick.

"Chill!" she interrupted, yanking herself from their grasp once they were far enough away, turning to look at them. "I'm not dealing with him again. I want to make sure he's actually gone."

"You could've asked us for help, darling," Balthazar said, eyes full of concern.

Mouth agape, she gazed at them both. They _cared_ so much. "I'm fine. You know that, right?"

The long haired angel turned away from her, muttering something under his voice, tone too low for her to pick up. Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed at his profile, features emphasized in the flickering light of the fire, hair shining golden in the growing light.

Balthazar's hand on her shoulder brought her attention back to him. "Don't do that again."

"O-okay. I'm sorry," she offered. "I didn't realize –," she hesitated, "I…I wrote something for my friend – she's just down the road. It's a quick walk. Do you mind?"

The angels quickly scanned the area, picking up the sound of sirens in the distance. "What does the house look like?" the brown haired angel asked.

"It's blue with white shutters. There's a sign out front that says in big letters: **The House**," she told them.

"Close your eyes," the long haired angel ordered. She tried to say something, but he immediately cut her off, intense gaze boring into her, "Close your eyes." Her eyelids immediately fluttered closed, grip on the strap of her backpack tightening in fear. The angel's hand cupped the back of her neck before he told her it was safe for her to open her eyes. The House was in front of them, large white sign with immaculate writing hanging out front. She carefully made her way to the mailbox above the sign, sticking her letter in before turning back to the angels who had followed her.

As she worried a lip between her teeth, Balthazar asked, "You ready love?" Taking a deep breath, she nodded, glancing at their two intense looks. Balthazar stuck out his hand, waiting for her to take it.

She glanced at The House one last time before gently placing her hand in the angel's open palm. Eyes flashing to the other angel, she closed her eyes.


	35. Chapter 35

"It's the left up here," she told Dean, who slowed the car to take the turn onto the dirt road. "Third house on the right – well, rubble, not house."

Dean hadn't said a word as he listened to her story; his jaw tightened when she told him one of the angels was Balthazar. Now that it seemed she was done talking, he asked, "Em…Balthazar and the other one…did they treat you okay?"

She seemed confused at the idea. "Yeah, Dean. They were amazing."

"Good." He was still trying to process all the information she was giving him.

Soon, they pulled up in front of a long driveway leading to a blackened foundation, saplings growing between what was left of the charred floorboards where the kitchen used to be. "After a year at The House, I moved in with Lucas for a couple months," Emily said, opening the door of the car. "Thought we…well, never mind."

Dean left the topic alone, painfully aware of how much it upset her. They proceeded to wordlessly slave over the ruble together, searching for any sigh of sulfur, hex bags, or other suspicious items Lucas could have picked up from hunting to resurrect himself. Dusk slowly fell over the pair before Dean finally leaned back, hands on his hips, saying, "Em, I don't think there's anything here."

She sighed, giving the clearing one last sweeping gaze. "Yeah… The motel's about half an hour away if you wanna…" she trailed off, staring over the rubble.

"Yeah, you should get some sleep," he agreed, draping an arm over her shoulders. "Come on."

Emily mindlessly flipped through the stations on the impala's radio before Dean, finally fed up with her, reached over into the glove compartment and pulled out a cassette tape, handing it to her. "Dean, is this…?"

"Yup," he popped the "p," smile playing across his lips.

As she popped it into the player, something twisted in her chest…a good twist. She grinned up at him when the first cords of "Rock of Ages" filled the car. "No dust," she noted quietly. "You still play it."

He cleared his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Well, you know…good songs."

"That they are," she replied, leaning back into the leather seat. Soon enough, they found themselves singing along to the classic rock, and, for a moment, it felt as though nothing was wrong with the world. As the final cords faded and "Carry On my Wayward Son," began to play, she quietly remarked, "I miss the good days."

Dean sighed, wary of where the conversation was headed. "I know, princess. But we can still make the best of what we have now."

"It's not the same," her voice was soft.

"I know, but it's all we got." One of his arms wrapped itself around her, pulling her close as he carefully balanced his attention between the road and the girl beside him. "I promise, I'm not losing you again."

It was her turn to say, "I know," looking up at him. He met her gaze for a second before his eyes were back on the road. "It's this exit," she reluctantly added.

Great Falls became more urbanized as they got further into the town, houses having small front lawns and backyards for the children rather than several acres of flat terrain for a purpose known only to the landowner. The motel was a red brick building off of Route 15 with matching red shingles on the roof. The motel rooms connected on either side of the building, with a gap to access the parking area. Through the back lot, a blue drive through car wash was visible, and the Methodist Church across the street seemed ominous and looming, as if watching their every move. Dean glanced at her.

"Oh, come on. It's not that sketchy – it's just a small town," she defended. "There's some restaurants down the street, and everyone here is really nice."

"Okay, okay," he surrendered, pulling the impala into an empty spot around back. "Stay here."

"No way. I can get us a good deal." He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, come on."

She led the way up the front steps into the motel lobby, the scent of potpourri and mothballs immediately invading her nose. The front panel of the main desk was plastered in an awful, pink, flower print wallpaper, a no smoking sign above each section. A rather large woman in pearls and a dress almost exactly matching the wallpaper looked up from behind her bright pink glasses. "Emily, darlin'!" she squealed, swiftly jumping up from the chair, causing it to squeak in protest.

"Hi Ethel," she smiled, opening her arms to accept the older woman's ecstatic hug.

"Oh, it has been _too long_. Too long!" she stepped back, framing Emily's face with her hands. "Oh, just wait 'til Fred and Georgie see you," she breathed before her gaze suddenly focused on Dean, arms crossed over her chest. "And who is this handsome hunk of flesh, hmm?"

"Uh, Ethel, this is my brother…Dean."

"Dean?!" her eyebrows shot up as she looked back at Emily. "The Dean we both know I'm thinking of?"

"Yeah," she couldn't hide the wide smile that spread across her face.

"Well," Ethel huffed, her demeanor changing, "have I got talkin' to give to you, mister."

Dean's eyes went wide as Emily attempted to dissuade the older woman. "No, no, no, I told you it wasn't his fault. He's got nothing to do with that."

"Mm hm. That's what you say _now_."

"Ethel," an old man's voice suddenly cut into the conversation, "have you see my – _oh_!" A man in his sixties entered the lobby, stopping short when he caught sight of the female Winchester. His hair was speckled grey, and his yellow shirt was tucked into his pants, which were much further up than his waist. "Ethel is that…"

"Yes, dear," she smiled, and her demeanor once again changed immediately after the topic of conversation moved to Emily.

"Emily!" the man yelled, literally skipping over to embrace her in a warm hug. "What've you been up to, young'un?"

"Hiah, Georgie," she grinned. "Eh, nothing like what the three of us used to do…"

"Speaking of the Terrible Trifecta," the old man grinned before shouting, "Fred! Get down here – it's Emily!"

There was a loud thumping from the stairs before a second man in his sixties burst through the door, blue shirt tucked in his trousers in the same manner as Georgie. "Where's my favorite girl under one hundred and twenty!"

"Watch it, Fred!" Ethel warned playfully.

"C'mere, you," he swept her into a tight hug, telling her how much he had missed her.

"And who's this hunk?" Georgie asked, referring to Dean.

"This one's Dean…yes that one," Ethel stated, and, like a playful dog spotting the mailman, her demeanor immediately changed again.

"We gotta give that one a talking to," Fred grumbled, adjusting his tall pants threateningly.

"Come on, guys," Emily grinned. "It wasn't his fault."

Ethel gave him a look before retreating behind the main desk to retrieve a room key. "I suspect you'll be wantin' to stay the night, what with Jen missing an' all…"

"Yeah, I meant to ask if you knew anything about that," Emily said.

Georgie interrupted his wife who had just opened her mouth to speak. "Just that she vanished a day or two ago. Cops got nothin' to go on, and frankly we don't know what to believe."

She nodded, unconsciously leaning toward Dean. "I know this is going to sound funny, but what about Lucas? Have you seen him – even if you didn't think it was him and that you were just imagining things – anything would help at this point."

Ethel's eyebrows furrowed. "No, I'm sorry, Em. We haven't."

"Well…" Georgie began carefully.

"Yes?" Emily asked as Dean focused his attention on the older man.

"About three days ago, I-I _thought_ I saw him drivin' toward the old creek where ya'll used to hang out, but…ya know, it couldn't be him," he told her, attempting to rationalize what he had just admitted.

"Toward the creek?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks Georgie," she smiled.

"Now," Ethel exclaimed, interrupting the conversation, "I'm sure you two youngun's wanna get to bed." She handed Emily a room key. "Number 14, two queens."

She quickly pocketed the key. "Thanks, Ethel. How much?"

"For you, honey, nothin'," Fred grinned.

"No, I–"

"Yes. Now you go on and getch yer bags outta the car, and we'll just have a little chat here with Mr. Dean," Georgie supported his brother.

"Nuh uh, no way. I'm not leaving him alone with you three." Her eyebrows furrowed.

"Come on, dear. I'm sure you're really tired – you should get to bed," Ethen said, pushing her toward the door.

"But, Ethel–"

"No buts. Go on," her chipper voice said as Emily was finally pushed out the door and back into the dark Montana night.


	36. Chapter 36

Half an hour later, Emily's head jerked up from her laptop as Dean walked through the door, face ashen. She immediately ran to see if he was alright. "Shit," she muttered under her breath. "What'd they do?"

"N-no, I –" he cleared his throat. "I'm fine, princess. You, uh…you should get to bed. It's late."

"Dean – ?"

"I'm fine, really," he said, seeming to snap out of something as his gaze focused on her.

"What's they tell you?"

"Nothing. Did you brush your teeth yet?"

Emily gave up, deciding to let Dean baby her as they ran through their nightly routines. Mouthful of toothbrush, Dean had asked her, "Who's Bruce?"

She choked on her mouthwash. Dean gave her a moment to compose herself before she reluctantly answered, "An old friend. From the House. Why?"

"No reason."

"How'd you hear about him?"

"Ethel," was his simple answer. She let it go.

Later that night, Dean was sitting on the bed flipping through channels as she worked on her laptop. As she raised a cup of tea to her lips, he quietly asked her, "Who's Gabriel?"

The mug slipped from her hand, thumping loudly on the rug. "Who?" she attempted to play it off as she grabbed a towel to soak up the tea.

"Gabriel," he repeated hesitantly.

"Don't know him," she suppressed a snarl, violently pushing the fabric into the rug. "Why?"

"Curious," he huffed, obviously unsatisfied with her answer as he turned back to the television.

She lay awake in bed that night, mulling over Dean's questions. How much had the brothers and Ethel told him? "Dean?" she asked quietly, rolling over to face the second bed.

The moonlight shining through the window illuminated a bulky form underneath the covers slowly rising and falling every couple seconds. "Night, bro," she muttered, not wanting to wake him.

The next morning, she awoke to sunlight streaming through the window and a wonderful smell wafting through the room. She groaned, reluctantly blinking her eyes open as she took a deep breath.

"Rise and shine, kiddo!" Dean seamed way too happy for his normal personality in the morning.

"What time is it?" she rasped.

"Seven thirty! You still like sausage, right?" his voice came from the other side of the room.

It took her a moment to process what he was saying. "Y-yeah. Dean, what has gotten into you?"

"What, it's illegal to get you breakfast now?" he joked, something different in his eyes when he looked at her.

"N-no, just…whatever," she sighed, kicking off the sheets to swing her legs over the side of the bed, running her fingers through her long hair.

"Come eat, princess," Dean offered, sitting down at the table by the window across from a Styrofoam container.

She asked curiously as she got up, "Where'd you go?"

"A little place down the street Ethel recommended," he said mater-of-factly as he took a bit of his eggs.

"Been hanging out a lot with her?" she asked innocently. He grunted, shoulders shrugging as he chewed a mouthful of food. "Dean," she began hesitantly, putting down her fork, "what'd they tell you last night?"

"Nothing," his smile faded slightly, mimicking her actions last night. "Let's eat and them we can go to that place under the bridge or something that one of the twins was telling you about last night. Where he thought he saw Lucas?"

"Right," she answered, slightly unnerved by his answer. As she ran over the scenarios for his conversation with Ethel last night again, she yawned, body not being able to keep up with where her mind wanted to go.

Dean suddenly pushed his coffee in front of her. "What–"

"You need it more than I do," he said smiling. She swore she could see that same thing in his eyes that he had after his conversation with Ethel last night.

"You okay, Dean?"

"Wonderful. You?" His question seemed genuine.

She paused, trying to figure out what he knew. "Good." She knew that he was inherently protective over her, but something had changed. It somehow became more than that. There was a longing in his eyes, but he kept his distance. There was also…guilt? He was sad but happy at the same time but trying to hide everything under his layer of "manliness," and it was all so confusing –

"Em."

"What?" she started.

"Calm down. Your ears are practically spitting steam. Let's just focus on the hunt, okay?"

"Yeah…yeah, ok." She tore her eyes away from his and picked up the fork. _Focus. I can do that_.


	37. Chapter 37

The tip to check the road under the bridge was another futile attempt to find any sort of lead. It looked exactly the way she had left it all those years ago. The library held no answers either. By now she was very frustrated with herself, Dean, Ethel – basically the world.

"Tomorrow's a new day, princess," Dean attempted to console her. "Hey." she looked over at him. "We're gonna get this sonnabitch, you hear me?"

"I hear ya," she grumbled, laying her head against the window.

Emily was kept up in the whirlwind of her own thoughts until the Dean cut the impala's engine in front of the motel room. With a quick glance at the clock, she saw that it was already 8:45. "Listen," Dean said. "We're running a bit low on funds. I was thinking about hitting a bar tonight. You in?"

The gears immediately began moving in her mind. "No, I'm gonna get some shut eye. You go. There's a good one about fifteen minutes away. Second Street. Lots of dumbasses – you could get a lotta dough."

"You sure? You're gonna stay here alone?"

"I got Ethel and the twins. I'm good, I promise."

He sighed. "Alright. I see you later, princess. Don't go try and find him on your own, you hear me?"

"I won't," she opened the car door.

"Emily! Promise me."

She sighed, looking back at him. "I promise I won't go try and find him on my own. Happy?"

He hesitated. "Good enough. I'll be back in a bit, okay?"

"Yup. See ya," she shut the door, pulling out her key to the motel room. She pretended to struggle with the lock as she listened to the impala pull out of the parking lot and roar off into the distance. Her demeanor immediately changed as she pocketed the key and walked off in the direction of the woods. She walked a quarter mile to ensure her privacy before dropping her backpack onto the ground, her mind already calling out to them. "Well?" she yelled into the night. "Get your feathery asses down here! That means you, too, Gabriel!"

She pause, scanning the area, watching for any movement in the trees. "Balthazar!" she screamed, anger rising in her chest.

"Sweetie…" a soft accented voice came from behind her.

She whirled around, starting into the angel's blue eyes. "Where is he?"

"Em…"

"WHERE IS HE?!" she screamed, a tear slipping down her face. "Bal…it's been a year. Why…why doesn't he…" she broke off, gaze falling to the ground.

She could feel the angel stepping closer before hesitantly wrapping his arms around her. "I know I've never been as good at this as he has, but…he _does_ love you. He _does_ care. I promise. It's just…"

"It's because of me. It's because I – I–"

"You did not do anything wrong; do you understand me?"

She wrapped her arms around him, returning his hug. "But what if I did?"

"You didn't," he said, much softer. "You didn't."

"Emily?" Dean's voice came from the direction of the motel.

She gasped, standing in front of Balthazar in a protective stance. "You're supposed to be at the bar."

"I…I forgot something – Em, what…what are you doing? With _him_?"

"Dean, it…this is Balthazar," she admitted.

"Yeah, I know," he growled. "Em, come here." His eyes warily started at the angel.

"Dean, what's wrong."

"Ah, your brothers and I are…how shall we say, on barely civil terms," Balthazar said from behind her.

"Last time we met, he used us as a decoy to distract Raphael. Almost got us killed," Dean snarled.

"But I _didn't_, did I? I would never let you get _killed_." She looked up at the angel, hurt look on her face. He sighed, "Look, I'm sorry, but I needed a decoy. I knew they could handle it."

"What if we couldn't? What if we did get killed?" Dean yelled. "What would you do then?"

"Raise you back up," Balthazar said matter-of-factly. "It's been done countless times before."

Dean threw his hands in the air. "Wow. _Wow_. That's good to know, really comforting."

"At least–"

"At least what, at least we're still alive?"

"AT LEAST YOU'VE STILL GOT HER!" his voice rumbled through the forest, shaking the trees. He took a breath, setting his jaw. When he spoke, his voice trembled with barely checked rage. "At least you found her. At least you have her to fall back on when things go bad. At least she's there, you _ungrateful swine_," he spat. "You have no idea – _no idea_ – what she went through when you abandoned her. You have _no right_ to say anything!" A small shockwave shook the trees around them as Balthazar desperately tried to control his temper.

"And you do?!" Dean scoffed.

She sky suddenly darkened as Balthazar turned to Emily. "Forgive me," he said roughly, concentrating on his words. "I must leave or risk smiting _that_."

Dean opened his mouth, ready with a smart ass comment, but, with a stroke of his wings, the angel was gone. "Balthazar, wait!" Emily called out into the darkness. "Please, I need your help!" There was no answer this time.

"Em…" Dean said quietly.

"You!" she spun on him furiously. "You…you-you–" She slammed her fist into his jaw, and he stumbled backward into tree. She opened her mouth to say something only to close it again, angry tears slipping down her cheeks. She shook her head and took off back toward the motel, the shocked expression on his face replaying over and over in her mind.

She prayed to Gabriel that night for the first time in months. On her knees, she cried for him, needing him more now than perhaps ever before. She sobbed over him, talking to him for hours. When Dean stumbled into the motel room very early the next morning, he found her slumped over the side of the bed, haven fallen asleep before she was able to get into bed.


	38. Chapter 38

**_Seven years ago cont._**

With a rustle of feathers, she could feel the stagnant apartment air fill her lungs, replacing the clean Montana breeze she had known for so long. As Balthazar began to explain something to her, she reluctantly opened her eyes, wishing everything could go back to normal, before she moved in with Lucas – no, before she lost her brothers.

"The bathroom is right over there near the closet. There's a fresh toothbrush and everything…extra clothes in the closet – they're your size. Um…yeah," he quickly glanced between Emily and the second angel. Her gaze was on the ground as the long haired angel started at her, several emotions mixing in his eyes. "I should probably go…you know, let you get ready for bed with whatever rituals you humans."

"Balthazar?" she asked quietly.

Seeming surprised, he answered, "Yes, love?"

She paused. "You guys are angels, right?" Not bothering to give him time to answer, she continued, "So, w-why'd you bother with me when there are so many people who have it worse off? There are so many lives you could be saving."

He opened his mouth, but stayed silent. The second angel continued to stare at her as she dared to raise her gaze from the floor, glancing to the golden haired angel before focusing her gaze on Balthazar. "I…" he finally began, "we…when you were young…" he sighed. "Emily…I made a promise to your mother before you were born."

"You…you knew my mom? And my sister?"

It was Balthazar who dropped his gaze now. "Yes."

"I don't…why? I mean, you're an angel – you're supposed to protect her – and she – she," she could feel tears beginning to prick he corners of her eyes.

His eyes were filled with sadness and deep regret. "I couldn't get there in time…I couldn't save them."

She blinked furiously. "Why? Why…"

"Her husband – your father…he had the house warded against angels. By the time I heard her praying to me and got into the house, it was coming for you. I was able to get you outside and to the Winchesters where I knew you'd be safe."

"Why didn't you take me with you?" she stared up at him with a perfect replication of Sam's puppy dog eyes.

"I wanted to," he said immediately. "Dad _knows_ I wanted to, but your mother…I knew she wouldn't let me."

"So…" she paused, trying to understand. "My mother wouldn't let you take me with you, but she made you promise to protect me?"

"Yes."

"Then where were you both?" she stared up at them, face going dark.

He paused. "I…well, we…watched you grow up with them. My brother," he gestured to the dirty blond angel, "saw me watching over you when you were four, and he's been watching over you, too, ever since then."

"So this whole time…" she paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. When she stared back up at them, there were tears in her eyes. "April 1996."

"What?" the older angel asked hesitantly.

"Where were you on April 14, 1996. The worst day of my life."

"Emily," Balthazar's voice sounded broken, as though someone had just stabbed him through the heart.

"_Don't_," she spun around, glaring at him. Her hands were clenched into fists at her side. "I almost died so many more times than just tonight. And you think as soon as Luc's about to kill me, you can just…just waltz in and expect me to – to…_obediently_ go with you, no questions asked? I don't know anything about you! For all I know, you could be lying though your teeth and just be a really powerful witch or something! I don't _need_ you! I can make it on my own – God knows I've been doing that my whole life!"

Balthazar clenched his jaw, eyes shining. She immediately felt guilty. "Well…I can see you need time to process this. À demain." With a flutter of feathers he was gone.

She sank down to the floor, leaning against the bed frame and holding her head in her hands. She felt incredibly guilty about yelling at him, but every word of what she said was true. She needed them so any times, but they never stepped in, never once helped her. She sat there for what felt like hours before she recognized that someone was in the room with her. Lifting her head, she saw the other angel sitting cross-legged on the floor across the room, starting at her as though he was attempting to understand everything about her. She was silent for a moment before saying, "I-I'm sorry. What I said…I didn't mean…"

"Yes you did," he stated, gaze fixed with hers. "But it is the truth."

"I shouldn't have said it."

"Why, because it was mean?" She bit her lip. "I appreciate that you were honest with us about how you felt. I think the world needs more of that."

When her gaze dropped to the floor, the angel said, "Why don't we start over. What's your name?" She looked up at him, confusion on her face. "What's your name? That's usually how people greet each other, isn't it?"

"Well, usually they say hello," she said quietly, flashing him a weak grin because of his oblivious nature.

"Well then," an adorable goofy grin had infected his face when he saw her smile. "Hello," he stuck out his hand, "what's your name?"

"Emily Winchester," she smallest of grins tugging at her mouth as she placed her small hand in his. It still surprised her that his hands were so warm and comforting. She began to recognize a change in her attitudes, wondering what is was about this angel that terrified her and welcomed her at the same time.

"Well, hello, Emily. I'm Gabriel." I took her a minute to register the name with the biblical references to Gabriel she had learned from hunting with Sam and Dean. Her heartbeat jumped.

"Gabriel…_the_ Gabirel, like you met Mary – that Gabriel?" her eyes widened in fear as she tried to pull her hand from his, her throat swelling.

"Not if you don't want me to be," he said quickly, moving closer to her, effectively trapping her against the bed.

"Gabriel…" she muttered, a nervous laughter beginning to bubble in her throat. The angel looked down at her, clearly surprised and worrying slightly at her wellbeing. The fit of giggles soon erupted into hysterical laughter. "This is how I'm going to die. Out of everything – _everything_ – I've tried…an _archangel_…Killed by an angel," she snorted, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Her breath began turning to frantic gasps again as she squeezed her eyes shut, terror rising in her chest.

"Please," the angel muttered, grabbing one of her hands, transferring the vice-like grip she had on her jeans to his fingers. A strangled sob tore its way from her throat before something began to flow from Gabriel's fingers into her. It was similar to when he had healed her, although she could somehow tell it was calming her down, not physically repairing her. Before turning into a full-blown panic attack, her breath almost immediately stabilized as she lost some of her grip on the angel's fingers. Energy drained, she leaned into the angel, her head on his shoulder, as she quietly panted for breath.

"Emily," he pleaded quietly. "I swear…I would never hurt you, okay? You have my word."

Her voice was strained somewhat and barely audible to the human ear as she commented sarcastically, "B-but…after _everything_ I said to you – I almost hit you – and the angel's not gonna smite me."

"Never," he growled. She could feel his body tense at the idea. "You are very precious to me, Emily. I would never…I would never forgive myself if you – if something…While I am alive, nothing, _nothing_ will lay a hand on you again. I promise."

Her fits had died to a silent crying; her eyes were closed as she leaned against him, a continuous stream of tears falling from her eyes. "I actually, for once, don't want to die," she muttered, grabbing the small silver charm on her leather bracelet.

"And you won't." She flinched at his voice, attempting to pull away from him again. "Please," his voice sounded broken as he held onto her, another surge of the sedative from his fingers coursing through her. "I swear I will not hurt you. No harm will come to you while I'm here. You have my word."

She sighed, collapsing into him, energy completely spent. "I can't do this anymore."

"You can. Yes, you can because you are stronger than that, and I will be by your side," she could feel his voice rumbling in his chest. Emily surprised herself by nuzzling closer to him and closing her eyes. "I've got you," he muttered. "I'm here."


	39. Chapter 39

Emily found that being around Dean the next day was more uncomfortable than she had anticipated. The extremely overprotective, nurturing nature he had taken on after his conversation with Ethel had vanished to be replaced by a hurt expression whenever his gaze met hers. He barely spoke to her, and Balthazar still wouldn't answer her prayers. And she hadn't apologized for hitting him.

"Look, I can't take this anymore. I'll be at The House if you need me," she finally said that afternoon after hours of fruitless research on her laptop.

Dean didn't answer.

She slammed the door closed, laptop bag swinging precariously from her shoulder, and turned left, away from the road. The twins kept old bikes in a shed near the woods that they would rent out to anyone who didn't have a car. She knew they wouldn't mind if she borrowed one. Just in case, she stuck a ten under the handlebar of the closest bike before taking off toward The House.

Amanda was sitting on the porch swing when she pulled up in front of the sign, resting the bike against it. "Darling!" the older woman called, beckoning Emily toward the house. "I had a feeling you were coming."

"Yeah, hey," she tried to smile.

Amanda immediately frowned. "What's wrong, love? Trouble in paradise?"

"Yeah, just a little thing with Dean – it's not important. Do you know where Bruce is?" she avoided.

"Bruce and Alice bought a house together, in fact. Down the road about a mile to the left."

"Thank you, Amanda. I'm sorry I can't stay longer, maybe when this is all over…"

"I know, I know. Go on, love," she gave her a sad sort of smile.

"Thank you. I'm sorry," Emily repeated, already hurrying back to the bike.

The ride seemed to last forever, her anticipation growing with each rotation of the wheels. When she finally dropped the bike in front of their house, Brue was outside waiting for her. He was a burly man, taller than Sam, with a strong affinity toward flannel. His bearded face had a beastlike quality, especially his fierce eyes, which frightened people who didn't know him. He was actually one of the gentlest and kindest people Emily had ever met, besides when he was very…_passionate_ about something.

"Hey, buddy," she smiled, walking into his outstretched arms.

"Thought I smelled ya," his voice rumbled. "You here cuz of Jen?"

"Yeah…I'll only be here till I find her. Listen, Bruce, I need your help."

"Anything, sweatheart."

"I don't know if you'll be able to, but if there was any way could track Lucus's sent…"

His face immediately darkened. "You think–"

She nodded. "Yeah. I got a phone call…his voice. I just want this son of a bitch out of my life."

"I know. You ready to go now?"

"I mean, if you're busy–"

She got her answer as his face began to elongate and his legs swelled to rip through his jeans. His tattered shirt fell into the dirt as he transformed into a giant beast. His head looked bear-like with an elongated snout, alluding to a wolf. His was about five feet long, not including his tail, and about four feet tall to the shoulder. His sharpened teeth flashed as he opened his mouth, and a deep growling voice rumbled, "Get on," as his front legs bent to lower the top half of his body to the ground.

"Alice won't mind?" she asked, referring to his wife.

A growl ripped through his chest, and she quickly clambered on his back. She dug her hands in the fur by his shoulders, holding on as tightly as she could. With a deafening roar, his forelegs lifted slightly off the ground in a rear before he took off toward Lucas's burned down house. "Tell me what happened," he growled, pawing through the ruble.

She recounted the story of the phone call and her investigation so far, leaving out the fight with Dean and her angel. "So, ol' Georgie said down by the bridge?" He lifted his massive head into the wind, and she could feel his sides heave with every breath. Suddenly, without warning, he took off, darting through the trees, faster than she had ever seen him travel before. She was forced to close her eyes against the stinging wind, burying her face in Bruce's warm fur. His pace eventually slowed to a trot, and Emily took in her surroundings.

They were on the old bridge, and Bruce was snuffling along the concrete for any clue he could find. Her hands tensed in his fur as he heaved his front legs on top of the rail guard on the edge of the bridge, once again lifting his nose into the wind.

"Look, Dean's car!" Emily suddenly told him, pointing up at the ledge above the ravine. With a few great bounds, Bruce was there in almost an instant, sniffing at the door handle. "Oh no," she breathed in a small voice, slipping of the older man's back. There were a few drops of blood in front of the driver's side door, and glistening red streaks on the handle. The back window had been shattered, and the trunk was dented. A small pool of blood had collected in the dent and stated to congeal, the rest dripping down the side of the impala and onto the dirt road.

"Dean was defiantly here – that's his blood. I…I might smell Luke, but something's wrong with his sent," Bruce grumbled, gazing down into the ravine. "I can defiantly track Dean, and it will probably lead to Lucas."

She ran a hand through her hair before angrily flipping the trunk open and grabbing the salt gun as well as her favorite automatic Dean only used in emergencies, which she slung over her shoulder. "Let's do this."


	40. Chapter 40

_**This chapter is dedicated to my amazing and inspirational follower **WhovianArmy_**. _ Thank you so much._**

Bruce discovered a small cave about a mile north into the dry ravine; it was well hidden in the shadow of an outcropping ledge. The dark opening was surprisingly wide enough for Bruce's beast form, and he slipped through ahead of her. As the tunnel began to widen, she walked alongside him, salt gun held steady at her side. There were old fashioned lit torches lining the sides of the tunnel, singeing Bruce's fur whenever he got too close. After what felt like hours, she began to hear Dean' muffled moans bouncing off the rock walls. She stiffened, but Bruce took no notice. She was sure he had heard them long before she could. As they walked, the pained sounds became louder and louder, increasing Emily's anxiety with every step. Suddenly, the tunnel took a sharp left into a large room which was clearly the source of the noise. Two figures were strung up from the ceiling, hands tied above their heads and ankles chained to the floor. There were glowing red amulets around both their necks, and their shirts had begun to slowly burn away where it touched the fabric. Dean looked groggy, head lolling to the side as he struggled to stay conscious. Jen's amulet had burned deep into her skin and through part of her muscle, revealing one of her ribs. Emily suppressed a gag and thanked whoever was up there that she was unconscious.

She gave a quick scan of the large room before hurrying over to Dean and pulling the amulet over his head. His chest immediately expanded as he threw his head back, gulping air. "Dean," she muttered, pulling his head back down to face her. "Dean."

"Em-ly," he slurred, trying to focus his eyes on her.

"Yeah, I right here. I gonna get you down, okay. Hang on." She moved to Jen, cutting the rope for the amulet first before carefully pulling it out of her chest. Jen moaned quietly and moved her head, but that was it.

Emily was suddenly pinned against the wall, piercing blue eyes boring into hers. "Shouldn't have done that, love," he muttered before the pressure was immediately lifted from her chest as Bruce dragged him across the room.

Just as soon as Bruce had gotten the upper hand, he was thrown across the room like a rag doll, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. Lucas gazed in Emily's direction. It was then that she noticed a small leather bag tied securely around his neck. She fired off three quick shots into his chest with the salt gun to no effect. She tossed it aside, whipping around the automatic, firing at least ten rounds through his heart.

Lucas was on the ground, blood beginning to seep from his chest, before he slowly moved an arm, attempting to get up. _Just like a horror movie_, she thought. She quickly walked over, shooting a quick burst into his skull to knock him out for a few more seconds, buying her time to cut the hex bag off his neck. Taking a few quick steps back from her undead ex, she fumbled for the lighter in her pocket. Lucas had now begun to sit upright, legs shaking as he attempted to stand. "_Come on_, you piece of shit," she muttered before the lighter finally flared to life.

"You're not gonna move, and you're gonna give me some damn answers," she ordered, just as he got to his feet, "or you go up like a straw house."

He held up his shaky hands and sneered, "_Feisty_. Alright, _princess_, you got me."

"What kind of curse brings you back from the dean and strong enough to throw Bruce across the room?" she asked.

"Curse?!" he almost laughed. "More like _blessing_." When he was met with stony silence he continued, "It's something I set up as a failsafe a long time ago. Someone reads a little something, throws a little something together, and _poof_," he grinned evilly. "Here I am, love."

"Someone had to bring you back, you couldn't do it yourself?"

"Why'd you think it took so long, love? Not just anyone can do this," he gestured to himself as though her were a priceless artifact.

"And what about the amulets that were on them?" she nodded toward Dean and Jen.

"Someone needs to kill in order to get me back here, but after that I run on fuel. More specifically, _life force_," he hissed, grinning at her reaction. "Anyway," he looked bored now, "some local kid bought it a bit before I got back, and I figured he was the sacrifice."

"Who would've brought you back?"

"You think I know?" he scoffed. "It's been near a decade. I'm out of the loop, love."

"One more thing, Luc."

"Yes, love?" he took a step toward her.

"Say hello to your mom in hell for me," she spat, lowering the hex bag above her lighter. When he realized what she was doing, he immediately attempted to rush her. Just as he reached out a bloody hand for her throat Lucas's form was consumed in a blinding fire, the hex bag burning to ashes on the ground.

She let out a shaky breath before running back to Dean. Swiftly pulling a barrette out of her hair, she unlocked the chains on his ankles before cutting him down from the ceiling. He collapsed into her arms, almost sending her to the ground before she regained her balance. "Dean? Dean?!" she began to panic, laying him on the ground.

"Oh God," she muttered, quickly freeing Jen and gently laying her next to Dean on the floor. Bruce was still unconscious, lying near the dent he created in the opposite wall. "Balthazar," she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut. "Balthazar, I-I can't breathe."

Two warm hands were immediately on her shoulders as the angel appeared in front of her. "I can't lose them, I can't lose him again, please," she gasped, sinking to her knees. "I can't…Balthazar, please, please help me."

He fell to the ground beside her, pulling her into his arms. "They will be perfectly healthy, including your brother. I promise. Look at me." He gently pulled her chin up, and her watery eyes flashed open to meet his. "After all this time, to you still not trust me?"

"I…I trust you. I trust you with everything I am, Balth."

He sighed, pressing a chaste kiss on the top of her head before standing up, hands reluctantly losing contact with her. He revived Bruce first, who got to his feet in an almighty huff before starting Balthazar down. "You smell like the angel," he grumbled.

He simple nodded in conformation, turning to Jen. "Thank you," Bruce said. Jenny's breathing stabilized as soon as Balthazar touched her, and her chest began stitching itself up, regrowing muscle around her rib before baby pink skin finally covered the wound. "She should be unconscious for about two days with a spell that powerful, but she'll be fine," he told Bruce. "Take her home."

Bruce ambled over, slight distrust and concern in his eyes. "What about Emily?"

"She is safe with me," he said, gently picking up Jen and placing her on Bruce's wide back. "Go."

The beast gave one last look in Emily's direction before making his way back into the tunnel.

"Balthazar," she muttered weakly. "I think…"

"Emily?" he was by her side in an instant.

"I think I'm gonna pass out," she mumbled, collapsing into his arms.


	41. Chapter 41

She awoke to muffled voices, one with a hint of anger. "Balth?" she muttered groggily.

"Hey," Sam said quickly, stroking her hair. "It's just me. We're in the car."

"Mornin' sunshine," Bobby's gruff voice said from the passenger seat. And indeed it was morning. Sunlight was streaming through the window, warming her face, Sam cradling her head in his lap.

And then, in a rush, everything from the previous day came back to her. "Dean?!" She shot up into a sitting position, frantically searching the car. "Where's Dean?!"

"Right here, princess," his concerned voice came from the driver's seat, immediately having a calming effect on her as she slumped back into Sam's lap. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Y-you okay?" she muttered, closing her eyes at the sudden dizziness that overcame her.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me. How are you doing?"

She sighed contentedly as Sam began stroking her hair again. "Fine," she said, although she left a bit nauseous. "What happened?"

"You passed out. Balthazar said it was shock and an overflow of adrenaline, or something like that. How do you feel?"

"Fine. Is…is he gone?"

"Yeah, kid, you got him."

"And Jen?"

"She's okay, too." He paused, "Listen, I told Sam and Bobby everything that happened and everything you told me. Okay?" She hesitated before nodding. "And for…being a dick to your angel…can you forgive me?"

Her eyebrow furrowed at the question, as it was so unlike him to apologize. "Of course, Dean."

"Good."

There was a short silence in the car with Sammy gently playing with her hair. "Well, since we've got a bit of driving to do, 'might as well explain where we're going," Bobby began. "The last few days while you and Dean were gone, Sam and I have been trying to track down Crowley. We think…" he gave an uneasy glance in Dean's direction, "we think Cas might be working with him. Now, we want to get solid evidence before we do anything, but there's a demon up north called Ellsworth. He's supposed to be higher up in the chain, and, if we go far enough, it should eventually lead us to Crowley."

"Okay," she said. "You got my bag?"

"It's in the trunk," Sam said quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Cool," she muttered. The car once again descended into a comfortable silence before Emily's stomach gave a violent growl, bringing a grin to everyone's face. "Sorry."

"There's a rest stop in a couple miles. We'll get you something to eat," Dean said.

There was a minor spat between Dean and Bobby over who would pay for the burger before Emily reminded them that she could wire more than a hundred times what the burger was worth into both their bank accounts in the time it took them to stop arguing. Dean parked behind the building as Bobby ran in for the food so that he could hand out the guns beforehand, as they didn't want to be stuck at the back of the car for five minutes getting supplies while the demons inside smoked out or tried to kill them.

Emily leaned on Sam for the remained of the ride, the burger in her stomach helping her to be more alert. "Glad your back, kid," he muttered at one point.

"Me too, Gigantor. And who you calling 'kid'?" He chuckled, draping his arm over her shoulder.

Dean gave them fair warning when they were close, and, as soon as the car hit the driveway, they all jumped out. Dean broke down the door, and the group spread out, checking each room of the house. "Hey, we're clear from the back," Sam muttered, shotgun in hand.

"Demons get tipped and bug out?" Dean asked as they circled around themselves cautiously searching for any sign of demons. The house was clean, no sign that anyone had been living there for at least the past week, although there was no dust layer.

"Maybe they run from us now," Sam ventured. "I mean, that would be a nice thought right?"

"Yeah, if that's what happened," Bobby grumbled, walking into another room.

Dean motioned for Sam to go first into the next room, and Emily quickly followed. That room led to the back door, and they thoroughly searched the small yard together, finding absolutely nothing. "You think maybe they _do_ run from us now?" she asked.

Sam sighed. "It would be a nice change."

She followed him back into the house, and he gave the report to Dean, who was still standing in the living room. "The place is clean."

"Yeah, but it's…" Bobby paused trying to find the right words, "it's like Mr. Clean clean, you know? It's kinda OCD for your average demon."

"Yeah, but from what you were telling me, he's not your average demon," Emily said. "Maybe he's like you, but…_clean_."

"I'm clean!" he protested. Emily's eyebrows shot up in skepticism.

"Alright, alright, guys," Sam interrupted the spat before I could go any further. "So, what now."

"We'd call Cas," Dean muttered.

"What?" Sam asked.

Dean paused, looking at the three of them. "This is usually the point where we would call Cas for help."

"We talked about this," Bobby said sternly, staring him down.

"Yeah, Dean," Sam put in before Dean cut him off.

"No, you talked. I listened." Emily shifted uncomfortably on her feet. "This is Cas guys," he practically pleaded. "I mean, when there was no one…and we were stuck – I mean _really stuck_ – he broke ranks. He has gone to the mat, cut and bleeding for us, so many friggin' times. This is Cas! Don't we owe him the benefit of the doubt, at least?"

Bobby lowered his eyes to the floor as Dean pleaded with Sam, giving him the most convincing puppy dog eyes she has ever seen. Emily wondered how Sam held out for so long before he finally caved, sighing, "Castiel, this is really important, okay? Um…we really need to talk to you." Sam opened one eye, as if peaking when he wasn't supposed to, before looking around the room for the angel.

"Castiel," Dean prayed, "come on in."

The angel didn't show.

Sam looked sympathetically at Dean before the older Winchester muttered, "Cas is busy."

Almost like he was trying to convince himself, Sam said, "It's alright. We are too," he thudded Dean on the shoulder before walking across the room.

"Back to square one," Bobby muttered pessimistically.

"Great. Well what do we do now?" Dean asked, following Sam's route across the room.

Bobby turned to face him. "Well, we caught one hunter demon before. We can do it again."

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed suddenly, turning back just in time to see a demon in a large meat suit tackle his brother to the ground. Two more were on Sam and Bobby in an instant, separating the group into separate fights.

Emily hesitated for a brief second in the center of the room, conflicted on who to help first, before she was suddenly grabbed from behind and thrown across the room. Her back slammed into brick of the fireplace behind the large desk, and she felt something crack and splinter, maybe a rib. The tall demon advanced on her, tossing the table threateningly to the side. He pulled her up by the collar of her shirt so her feet barely touched the ground; her heart was in her throat as she started him down.


	42. Chapter 42

Emily hesitated for a brief second in the center of the room, conflicted on who to help first, before she was suddenly grabbed from behind and thrown across the room. Her back slammed into brick of the fireplace behind the large desk, and she felt something crack and splinter, maybe a rib. The tall demon advanced on her, tossing the table threateningly to the side. He pulled her up by the collar of her shirt so her feet barely touched the ground; her heart was in her throat as she started him down. A golden light suddenly erupted from the demon's eyes and mouth as he lost his grip, and she crashed to the floor again, losing her breath at the pain in her side.

"Em?" Dean's voice immediately reached her ears from across the room, and she could hear him scrambling to his feet. "Cas?" she could hear him mutterer. "Help her…please."

She felt a touch to two fingers on her forehead before her bones snapped back into place and bruises healed themselves. It was nothing like when Gabriel healed her; there was no warmth in his touch.

Castiel didn't help her to her feet, but, once she was standing, she shot a reassuring look at Dean. Seeming to get the message, he moved on to his angel, saying, "Man, it is good to see you, Cas."

"Are you alright?" the angel asked, walking over to the group. She hesitantly followed, walking to Sam's side.

"Yeah, perfect timing, Cas," the younger Winchester said, pulling Emily closer to his side.

"I'm glad I found you," Castiel responded. "I come with news."

"Yeah? What?" Dean asked immediately.

He hesitated. "I firmly believe Crowley is alive."

Dean laughed sarcastically. "Yeah, ya think, Kojak?" He paused, looking over at his uncle. "Well, Bobby, what do you think about Cas saving our asses? Again."

Bobby sighed, "I think we owe you an apology."

"Why?" Castiel asked, looking confused.

"We've been hunting Crowley this whole time," Sam confessed. "And…keeping it from you."

"We thought," Bobby added, "you were working with him."

The angel seemed puzzled, "You thought what?"

"I know," Dean laughed. "It's crazy, right?"

"It's just that, you torched the wrong bones," Bobby began to justify himself before changing his mind. "It doesn't matter. We – we were wrong."

"You know," Cas took a few steps closer to the group, "you could've just asked me."

"We should have," Dean agreed. "We never should have doubted you. We just hope you can forgive us."

Castiel paused, seemingly having an internal monologue with himself before finally saying, "It's forgotten."

"Thanks," Dean said sincerely, gazing at the angel.

"Yeah. Thanks, Cas," Sam immediately agreed.

"It is a little absurd though," Castiel smirked. "'Superman going to the darkside,'" his voice changed as though he was mimicking something he saw.

Dean's body language changed so subtlety that Emily barely noticed it, but he was immediately more guarded. "I guess we can put away the kryptonite, right?" he joked nervously.

"Exactly," Castiel smiled. "Now, I have business to attend to in heaven, but is there anything else you need?"

Dean cleared his throat, "No, uh…no, Cas, we're good."

As soon as the angel was gone, Dean warily made his way to one of the chairs, dropping his head in his hands. "I-I don't understand," Emily began quietly. "What was that?"

"Damit!" Dean suddenly yelled, flipping over the wooden coffee table. Emily flinched, leaning closer to Sam as his older brother stormed out the door. Sam sighed, looking down at her. "Cas…he was listening in on our conversations. While you were still passed out in the car, the three of us were talking in the kitchen. We, uh…we used the analogy of 'Superman going darkside.' Cas…I guess he really is darkside."

There was a sinking feeling in her gut as she gazed toward the front door where Dean had disappeared. "I didn't realize just how much Cas meant to Dean."

"Yeah. Just something about you two and angels, I guess…" Sam muttered, hint of something bitter in his voice.

"Yeah," she paused. "Maybe."


	43. Chapter 43

Hours later, after dusk had fallen, everything was in place as Sam nervously paced the room. Dean, glancing one last time around the room at everyone, dropped his eyes to the floor and prayed, "Cas, we need your for a little powwow down here, so come on down…"

"Hello." Castiel was immediately standing in front of Ellsworth's oak desk, gazing down at Dean.

"Oh, Jonny on the spot," Bobby remarked.

"You're still here," the angel commented.

"Yeah, we had to bury the bodies," Sam lied.

"And we found a little whiskey," Dean smiled, holding up his glass. "Thanks for coming."

"How can I help?" he asked.

"Oh, uh…Look, we have a new plan," Sam said, holding his book open. "We think we've finally figured out a way to track down Crowley."

As Castiel fell for the bait and advanced toward Sam, Bobby stood up, preparing for the kill. "What is it?" the angel asked.

"It's you," was Bobby's simple answer as he quickly lit a match, dropping it on the ring of holy oil, effectively trapping Castiel.

The angel spun around, frantically searching for a way out before turning his gaze to Sam and Bobby in a silent plea. He reminded Emily of a wild animal. "What are you doing?" he exclaimed.

Dean stood up, facing him. "We gotta talk."

"About what? Let me go," Castiel order so quickly that it sounded like one sentence.

"About Superman," Dean carefully gauged Castiel's reactions. "And kryptonite."

The angel's eyes grew wide as his gaze became frantic once more, not looking Dean in the eye. "How'd you know what I said?" Bobby asked.

"How long've you been watching us?" Sam accused.

"You know who spies on people, Cas? Spies!" Dean stared him down.

"Okay, just wait. I don't even know what you mean."

"What about this demon craphole?" Sam asked. "How is it so, uh…next-to-godliness clean in here?"

Bobby jumped in, "And how exactly did Crowley trick you with the wrong bones?"

"That…is…hard to understand. It's hard to explain. Just let me go; let me out and I can–"

"You gotta look at me, man." Cas immediately stopped glancing around the room at Dean's voice, focusing his panicked gaze on the man's face. "You gotta level with me and tell me what's going on. Look me in the eye and tell me you're not working with Crowley," he pleaded.

Castiel's eye twitched, but his gaze never faltered. Emily could feel it in her chest as she watched Dean's heart break as his gaze fell to the floor. "Son of a bitch," he breathed. She could feel how everyone was emotionally connected to the angel and how everyone felt his betrayal, Dean more than anyone.

"Let me explain–"

"You're in it with him?" Dean asked. "You and Crowley…have been going after Purgatory together?" Cas avoided his eyes. "You have, huh? This whole time."

"I did it to protect you – I did it to protect all of you!"

"Protect us how?" Sam asked. "By opening a hole into monsterland?"

"He's right Cas," Bobby immediately picked up. "One drop got through and it was Eve. And you want to break down the entire dam!"

"To get the souls. I can stop Raphael. Please, you have to trust me–"

"Trust you?! How the hell are we supposed to trust you now?" Sam exclaimed.

"I'm still me. I'm still your friend." He paused, getting no response from the younger Winchester. "Sam, I'm the one who raised you from perdition."

Emily's heart stopped, and she immediately looked at Sam, gauging his reactions. He was in hell? When? Why did no one tell her? She could tell that the news that Castiel had been the one to save him was new to everyone.

"What?" Sam breathed. "Well, no offense, but you did a pretty piss poor job of it. Wait…did you bring me back soulless on purpose?" She could see the betrayal and hurt in his eyes as he stared at the angel. Sam was walking around soulless? And _no one_ told her. She reminded herself to bring that up to Sam later, as now was not quite the time.

"How could you think that?" Castiel begged.

"Well, I'm thinking a lot of things right now, Cas," Sam justified.

"Listen." Castile said very carefully and slowly, ensuring the words' full impact. "Raphael will kill us all. He'll turn the world into a graveyard. I had no choice."

"No, you had a choice. You just made the wrong one," Dean said.

"You don't understand. It's complicated."

"No, actually it's not. And you know that. Why else would you keep this whole thing secret unless you knew it was wrong? When crap like this comes around," Dean growled, "we deal with it…like we always have. What we don't do is we don't go out and make another deal with the devil!"

"It sounds so simple when you say it like that. Where were you when I needed to hear it?"

"I was there. Where were you?" Dean paused, and Emily drew a hand over her mouth, frustrated at the conversation. "You should've come to us for help, Cas."

"Maybe." The wind suddenly grew outside, howling against the windows. "It's too late now," Cas stated, looking at the ceiling as if expecting something to drop through. "I can't turn back now. I can't," he began to panic again.

"It's not too late," Dean growled. "Damit Cas, we can fix this!"

"Dean, it's not broken!"

The howling grew louder, and Emily followed Dean's gaze to the window. Several black streams of smoke were blocking out the light of the moon, plummeting toward the demon's house. The smoke was such a deep back, it was almost purple.

"Run," Castiel exclaimed. "You have to run, now. Run!"

Sam pulled Emily in front of him, pushing her toward the door. She needed no more encouragement, and sprinted to the car, the boys close on her heels. She jumped in the backseat, Sam quickly following as Dean took the wheel and Bobby scrambled to shut to passenger side door. As the engine roared to live and Dean sped toward the highway, Emily twisted in her seat, looking back through the rear window. At least thirty demons were circling the house, almost blocking it from view. She thought she saw an older man in a black suit step through the smoke before Dean took a sharp turn, preventing her from seeing anything else.

Sam's hand was on her hip, steading her as the impala spun out around another turn. As she thumped onto the seat beside him, they shared a look. There was nothing they could do.

A few days had passed since their discovery of Castiel's betrayal when Emily's phone rang. "Dean?"

"Yeah, hey. It's me," his voice came from the other end of the line.

"What's up. You alright?" she asked, turning the wheel of her truck with one hand.

"Yeah, we're fine. Look, where are you? We think we got a hit on Purgatory through some dead guys called H.P. Lovecraft," his voice said.

"H.P. Lovecraft?! Dude!" she exclaimed.

"What is it with you and Sam being nerds? God."

She laughed, "Yeah, whatever. I'm about ten minutes out, and I got the beer in the–"

From nowhere, a semi-truck slammed into the passenger door of Emily's Chevy, slamming her head against the window. She must have passed out for a second because, when she opened her eyes, a man was dragging her from the car by her shirt. She could hear Dean's screams over the phone calling out to her as a man in a dark suit picked up the cell. Emily immediately recognized him as the man who walked through the demons to get to Castiel.

He wasn't as old as she originally thought, maybe in his late thirties. "Hello, Dean," his voice was Scottish as he spoke into the phone. "Fancy a chat?"

She groaned at the pain in her head, aware that Crowley was speaking but unable to understand his words as she was shoved into the back of a van by two burly men. "Le…leme go," she slurred, weakly attempting to get up.

"I don't think so," one said, moving to stand over her. "Night, night, sweetheart." The last thing she saw was his fist slam into the side of her head.


	44. Chapter 44

_It was February fourteenth, 1996. John was explaining something to Dean in the front seat, but Emily didn't bother listening. She had one headphone of Sam's Walkman pressed against her ear as she concentrated on the song he was playing. He said it was by some guy, Elliot Smith. It was a song about LA and the gambling trade, but to the two teenagers it meant something more. Emily thought it was a sad ballad about a man who lost himself in the big city, daring it to take him forever. She thought it made a good lullaby._

_Sam took the song at its face value, with its plotline about the gambling rings, but it was also intrinsic to his relationship with Emily. Sometimes, when he and John had been fighting, they would sit and listen to this song for hours. Now he was using the song to comfort Emily. He glanced over at her as she despondently stared out the window. His hand carefully slipped over hers, and she looked over at him. He gave her a small smile, gently squeezing her fingers. She smiled sadly back, tightening her grip on him. _

_John had forgotten Emily's birthday again as he had for the past two years. For the boys, he would usually take a day or two off hunting to buy a cake and ensure some sort of attention and time dedicated to the birthday boy. Her birthdays had never been that important; John would buy a small cake and take an afternoon off if she was lucky. Dean was usually the one to organize a present or two and light the candles. _

_Her eyes flickered up to meet Sam's, and he held her gaze. _Thank you_, she mouthed gratefully._

_He smiled. _Happy Birthday.

Emily's eyes shot open as she sputtered and gasped for air. She could feel the chair she was tied to tilt foreward onto all four legs, and the soaked cloth covering her mouth fell into her lap. Water from her lungs dribbled down her chin as she gradually got back her breath. "Good morning, princess," the Scottish accent said, and she scowled up at him. "What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?" he grinned. "Oh, wait…"

"Screw you," she growled.

He tisked his tongue, wagging a finger at her. "Manners, love."

A tall demon was immediately at her back, cutting the ropes on her wrist only to shackle them to chains above her head. "Now, now, play nice, kitty," he took a step toward her, leaning over the chair.

She spat in his face.

He froze for a moment, before taking a white handkerchief from his pocket and carefully whipping his cheek. "Now, now kitten," his voice was dangerously soft. With a flick of his wrist, her arms were pulled painfully toward the ceiling until her toes barely touched the floor.

As Crowley opened his mouth to speak, he faltered catching sight of the wing tattoo where her shirt rode up. "What is that?"

"What?" Emily growled, feigning ignorance.

"The tattoo, idiot!" He moved to her back, roughly pulling her shirt up to her shoulders.

"It's a tattoo. Got it when I was sixteen. What's the big deal?"

She could hear him laugh faintly. "What's the big deal… Don't lie to me!" he yelled, yanking her head back.

"It's...a…tattoo," she growled, tears picking at the corners of her eyes from the pain of him pulling her hair. His grip only got stronger.

When he realized he would get nothing more out of her, he released her head, moving to stand in front of her. "Take them out."

"What?" she groaned.

"Take them out. Show me. I want to see."

She stared into his eyes, jaw set. "No."

In an instant his hand was on her throat. "Show me," he growled.

"No," she gasped. He continued squeezing until black spots swam in front of her eyes, but she refused to comply with his demand.

With a frustrated shout, he violently let go of her, storming out of the room, leaving two guards at the door as she frantically gasped for air. She hung there for what felt like hours until her arms cramped and she couldn't breathe properly. _Emily? Darling can you hear me?_ a British accent ran through her head.

_Balthazar?!_ she called out in her mind.

_Oh, thank my Father. Baby, I'm coming to get you. It'll take longer than normal, as Crowley's angel-proofed the building, so I have to get the boys. How are you holding up? What did he do to you? _ His sounded furious.

_I'm good, thanks, Balthy,_ she grinned to herself. _He knows. He wants to get at my wings. _

_Don't you dare–_

_I know, I know! Just…just get here, okay?_

_As soon as I can, darling._ There was a pause. _I love you._

_I know. I love you, too. Now, get here!_

As if on cue, Crowley sauntered back into the room, dirty piece of paper in his hand.

"What's that?" she grinned, her voice weak. "A note from Mommy?"

"This, ya little twit," he waved the paper in the air, "gets _those _pretty things out in the open." Her eyes widened as she stared at him. "Yes, darling," he smiled, before beginning to read something off in Latin.

Against her will, the tattoo on her back began to move, wings carefully flexing themselves. "No," she groaned, desperately trying to control herself. Crowley glared at her, reading off the Latin louder. Her groan turned into a gasp as the tattoo disappeared and two enormous wings exploded from her back, ripping to large holes in the back of her shirt.

Crowley's voice faltered as he stared up at her magnificence. One wing had to be at least four meters long, and they made the room seem significantly smaller. From her back, the width of the wings expanded for a few feet before tapering to a perfect point. The tips of her wings were a bright gold, gradually dulling into an amber as the feathers progressed. Every now and then along the expanse of the wings, there would be a solid gold feather, standing out among the rest.

As Crowley moved forward, her wings immediately snapped back against her as she attempted to protect them from him. "Now come on, dear," he grunted, grabbing one wing as one of his demons pulled on the other.

"Let go!" she screamed, furiously beating her wings, wrenching them out of their grasp and continually battering the demons.

Eventually, with more backup, Crowley was able to securely grab a wing and shove it violently onto a hook hanging from the ceiling. She screamed in pain as the dull metal tore through feather and muscle, impaling her wing. Soon after, the demons did the same with her other wing, and a small puddle of blood began to accumulate on the floor.

_EMILY! _a furious voice called out in her head.

She couldn't answer him, as much as she wanted to. Her mind was too clouded with pain.

_Emily, hang in there, love. I'm coming._

Her mouth opened, but only a strangled groan escaped as spots swam before her eyes. _Balth…_


	45. Chapter 45

**_Seven years ago cont._**

It's been months since the incident with Lucas. Emily was much more trusting of the two angels now, and she considered Gabriel a friend. Balthazar, on the other hand, didn't have the patience or the finesse needed to deal with a teenage girl in Emily's current situation. Although he is the one who had been watching over her since birth, Gabriel was the one who could ultimately get through to her.

They were somewhere in the mountains of northern Italy when Emily woke up one morning to muffled voices coming from the kitchen area.

"How am _I_ supposed to bring it up?" Balthazar was saying. "She hates me!"

"She doesn't hate you!" Gabriel countered.

"Have you _seen _the way she looks at me? She doesn't trust me."

She heard Gabriel sigh. "Look, just go talk to her…"

"No, that's your thing – you're good at that. Not me."

Emily suppressed a yawn stretching her limbs under the covers before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "You fighting over me?" she called out, making her way into the kitchen.

"Hey, sweetheart," Gabriel immediately smiled.

"What's up?" she grabbed a seat at the table. She couldn't help but notice that Balthazar looked rather uncomfortable.

"Well…" Gabriel began, "we need to bring up something…personal."

"Okay…" she prodded.

"Well, you see, uh…Balth would you like to take this one?" he asked quickly, as if to avoid the topic.

Balthazar's hands shot up in surrender as he stepped back from the table. "I, uh…I think you are the best educated in this…uh, topic, Gabriel, so you can, uh, go right ahead," he said, quickly pouring himself a glass of scotch.

"Really, Balth? Really? Morning drinking?" Emily raised her eyebrows.

He scoffed, taking a long draught of alcohol. "Yes, Balthazar, I think you have a drinking problem. Shall we address that?" Gabriel said quickly.

"No, no, no no no," Emily cut in. "We are addressing the topic like adults here. Now, what did you want to bring up?"

Gabriel looked up at Balthazar who took another swig of alcohol, pointing to it as he was drinking as if it was an excuse. The archangel sighed, "Em, we were just a-a bit concerned about…your wings."

"My what?"

"Your…wings, sweetheart," Gabriel confirmed.

"You mean my tattoo."

Balthazar laughed, throwing his head back. "Now who needs to address the topic like an adult?"

"Shut up!" she shot at him. "I keep forgetting you guys are _all-powerful_," she waggled her fingers as if to conjure fake magic.

"Not 'all-powerful,' exactly. We're not like Dad, where we can–"

"Gabriel," Balthazar sighed, cutting him off. "Shut up."

There was a pregnant pause. "So…about the thing no one seems to want to talk about," Emily began, "they're fine."

"Good! Well, we were just wondering because we haven't seen any feathers in the bathroom after you shower or anything, so…yeah, good," Gabriel said.

"Why would you see feathers?" she asked.

Gabriel's head shot up, and he started at Balthazar. As she watched their facial expressions change, she realized they were having a conversation without her. "Hey!" she snapped her fingers between them. "Don't do that!"

"Sorry," Gabriel brushed her off, "it's just that…" he glanced at Balthazar. "W-when was the last time you groomed you wings?"

"Groom my…" she frowned. "Am I supposed to?"

"Y-you never–" Gabriel looked between Emily and Balthazar, unsure of what to do.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," the other angel stepped in. "Emily, get in the bathroom. If you don't want your clothes to rip or get wet, take them off." Her eyebrows shot up. "Don't look at me like that. Gabriel, get your kit, because I know you groom yours just about every day."

"Balth, the bathroom's not big enough," Gabriel interrupted. "I usually go outside in the lake."

"The lake is freezing!" Emily exclaimed.

"You go get changed," he told her. "I'll figure something out."

She grumbled something under her breath, slipping back into her room. After carefully shutting the door, she chose her longest and rattiest T-shirt to slip over her head. There was soon a knock on her door. "You ready?" Gabriel called.

"I guess," she surprised herself at how unsure she sounded.

"That's comforting," he mumbled, opening the door.

"Where's Balth?" she asked.

"Somewhere in France, I don't know." He held out his hand, "Come on."


	46. Chapter 46

**_Seven years ago cont._**

"Somewhere in France?" she repeated, slipping her hand into his and closing her eyes.

"Somewhere in France," he mumbled, pulling at her arm. Her eyes fluttered open to see the most serene hot spring in existence. They were in the middle of a lush forest, with wildflowers growing everywhere they could find sunlight. Balthazar was waiting for them in the pool of water, his shoes and blazer resting on a patch of moss.

"Well? Come on," he called them over. Gabriel guided her over to the bank, as she couldn't stop herself from looking around.

"This is incredible," she whispered, afraid to speak to loudly.

"Yes, yes, it's gorgeous, just like you. Now can you come here?" Balthazar said, slightly annoyed.

Now that she was closer, she could see a large wooden chest with gold engravings on every side sitting next to Balthazar's shoes. On the top panel was an image of three beautiful golden wings, detailed down to every feather. "Whoa," she breathed, daring to run a finger over the golden lines.

Balthazar sighed in frustration, throwing his arms up in the air. She could see the water climbing up his shirt and clinging to his skin. "She's like a child in time square!" he exclaimed.

Gabriel was suddenly behind her, lifting her gently over the pool. As he lowered her closer, she continued pulling her legs up toward her chest, avoiding the water.

"Wait, waitwaitwait!" she squeaked until he stopped moving. Tentatively, she extended her leg until the tip of her toe touched the surface of the water. She carefully continued until her foot was completely submerged, and the peaceful warm water surrounded her foot. "Ooo," she breathed, dropping her other foot in. She could hear Gabriel chuckle as he lowered her the rest of the way toward the water until she was able to stand on her own.

The water crawled up her shirt to just below her chest as Gabriel slipped in behind her. When she turned around, she saw his shoes and jacket on the bank by Balthazar's. He had rolled up the sleeves of his maroon shirt, and his hair fell into his eyes as he looked down at her.

"Gabriel, how do you open this thing?" Balthazar's voice asked from across the pool.

The archangel's attention was taken from her as he waded over to help Balthazar with what she could only assume was the grooming kit. Soon, she heard the latch clink open, and she snuck between the angels to get a view of what was inside the box.

Her mouth dropped open as Gabriel tugged on a gold ribbon and three different shelf levels were pulled from the box. There was holy oil, another entire shelf of oils and liquids she didn't recognize, a shelf of different size combs ranging from ones that could only be held with two fingers to combs a little bigger than what a human would use for his or her hair, a shelf of what looked like popsicle sticks of all different sizes and widths, another shelf filled entirely with oils and lotions, two more shelves of different types and sizes of brushes from the finest paintbrush to what resembled a hairbrush, and the bottom of the chest was filled, yet again, with different oils.

"What, do you do this for a living?" Emily joked quietly, amazed at his collection.

"I can't take pride in how I look?" he asked, slightly offended.

"No, it's just…this is so amazing, I can't really see how it's all for one pair of wings," she said.

She caught Balthazar grinning as Gabriel laughed, "It's not."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing," Balthazar interrupted, pulling her away from the archangel. "Now, take out your wings."

She blushed slightly, playing with the hem of her shirt underwater. "I, uh…I don't exactly remember how."

"Don't re – how long has it been?" he asked, slightly taken aback.

"Since…well, since I got them," she winced.

"Since you got them?!" he exclaimed.

"Well I couldn't take them out while Sam or Dean were around, could I?" she justified.

Gabriel, still rummaging through his box, muttered something under his breath in Enochian. Suddenly, there was a twitching in her back, and the spot beneath her shoulder blades began to itch just as it had on her sixteen birthday. "Go on," he said, head still stuck in the wooden chest.

Not knowing how she did it, her wings began to rise from her back, ripping through the old T-shirt only to be immediately stung by the air. "Why does it hurt?" she asked, teeth clenched.

"On your back, on your back," Balthazar immediately instructed, supporting her with one arm behind her back while sweeping her feet off the bottom of the pool so her wings were fully submerged. She began to panic, struggling to sit up. "Calm down," he said, moving to hold her hip down with one hand while supporting her back with the other. "Breathe."

"Em? Em, open your eyes." Gabriel was standing over her, whiskey eyes staring into hers. Her hand immediately grabbed his pant leg. "Breath." She took a shuddering breath, feeling his hand on her waist. "Relax, okay?"

She nodded quickly, closing her eyes and leaning her head back as she tried to steady her breathing. "Better?" the archangel's soft voice asked.

Her nod was slower this time. "Good," he crooned. "What about your wings?"

"Better." And it was true. They didn't sting _nearly_ as much as before.

"Good. Balth, good on the quick thinking," his tone was lighter now.

"Yeah," Balthazar muttered, stroking a stray hair out of her face.

She opened her eyes and smiled up at him, all traces of panic gone. "Thanks."

He returned her smile, playing with her hair underwater. Her wings twitched every now and then, bumping into the sides of the pool of their own accord. They were a dirty brown, almost red, and the feathers were dull. Gabriel gently stroked one wing, and it jerked away, slamming into the bank as Emily hissed in pain. Gabriel muttered something under his breath, hand comfortingly stroking her side as the pain dulled.

"Em, I'm going to try something, okay? It should help. Do you trust me?" Gabriel asked.

"Of course," she muttered.

"Gabriel, what–"

"Hang on," the archangel interrupted. "Just let me do this."

She jumped slightly as his hand touched her lower back, but he gave no notice of it. His fingers trailed up her spine to where her wings sprouted from her back. Careful not to touch her wings he gently prodded the area until he found whatever he was looking for and a hot tingling spread from his fingers across her back. As it began to fade, she realized she couldn't feel her wings. "Gabe?" she asked nervously.

"I temporarily blocked the pain signals from getting to your brain. Everything is still intact and still there, you just won't feel the pain, okay?" he explained.

She nodded, "Okay."


	47. Chapter 47

**_Seven years ago cont._**

"Alright, then let's see if you can stand up," he said, moving with Balthazar to carefully balance her on her feet, her drenched wings sticking out of the water.

As their fingers moved to examine her wings, she knew they were having another telepathic conversation without her. "Can you spread your right wing out, love?" Balthazar asked, his fingers moving to its base.

She tried to move her wing only to smack Gabriel in the side of the head with it. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"It's okay, cupcake," he laughed, kissing the top of her head. "Okay, how about this…" he hoisted himself out of the pool to sit on the edge in front of her. As he stripped of his shirt, she raised an eyebrow.

He waggled his eyebrows seductively before closing his eyes. As she watched him, three enormous pairs of bright, golden wings unfurled from his back, stretching out in the sun. The glowed with a dim, otherworldly light, and stretched out much further than hers. She watched all six shake themselves off like a wet dog would before Gabriel carefully folded the lower two pairs behind his back and moved the largest pair to mirror the limp position hers were in.

"There we go," he smiled, looking down at her. Her eyes were glazed over as she stared at him, unable to process his voice. "Em?"

"Hm?" her eyes shot to his while still sneaking glances at his gorgeous wings.

He threw his head back in laughter, stretching his neck out and further exposing his stomach. "See? The wing care pays off," he winked.

"Gabriel," Balthazar sighed, feeling slightly excluded. "Can we do this already?"

"Right," the archangel cleared his throat. "Okay, Em, just mirror whatever wing position mine are in."

"Okay," she muttered, staring up at him, eager for an excuse to look at his wings. His left wing slowly stretched itself, showing off its brilliance, until it was fully extended. She attempted to do the same, her right wing trembling as she tried to exert her control over it.

First, it barely moved, twitching slightly whenever she tried to use the muscles. "Give it a little more power," Gabriel urged, and her wing shot out, just missing Balthazar's head. "Sorry!" she winced, her wing immediately retracting toward her back.

"Gabe, maybe it will go more smoothly if you did it together?" Balthazar proposed, smoothing his hair back.

The archangel's wing immediately retracted itself into Emily's position. "Alright, ready kid?"

She nodded, staring intently at his left wing as it slowly began to move. She gave her wing more power than her original try, but much less than her attacks on the angels' heads. Surprisingly, her wing jerkily extended to meet Gabriel's position. His face lit up as he praised her, "Good! Just like that," and his wing began to stretch further. Her wing moved in time with his, although his moment was much more graceful and smooth, until it stood fully extended, trembling slightly at the exertion.

"That's it, cupcake!" Gabriel smiled. "See if you can just hold it like that for a while."

She nodded, concentrating on keeping her appendage still as Balthazar's fingers quickly and deftly ran through her feathers. As he began continuously halting at certain points, she could see Gabriel's facial expressions change, morphing into worry before he finally said aloud, "Let me look," and jumped off the bank of the pool, creating small waves that lapped at her skin as he made his way over.

She stood as still as possible while they examined her wing until finally Gabriel moved away from her and toward his box. As he flipped a latch on the inside of the lid, a hidden pocket opened containing a single glass jar of a thick, silvery liquid. "Part of Michael's good batch!" Gabriel smiled triumphantly to Balthazar.

"Care to fill me in on the mental conversation?" Emily asked, eying the liquid suspiciously.

"When I was a fledgling, Luci was teaching me to fly in Dad's garden. He showed me a few tricks he could do first, which was a bad move because I…I wasn't very patient, and I wanted to fly just like him without practice. When he was distracted with Michael, I decided it would be a good idea to, uh, try it myself," he said, wading over to hand the jar to Balthazar and moving behind her once again. "I ended up jumping off a cliff into a patch of thorn bushes. Almost tore all my wings off. I barely had any feathers left on my wings, and Luci was, understandably, beside himself. Turns out Mikey had something happen to his wings when he was younger that left them in a similar state, and he made me at batch of the stuff he used. It took him a few tries to get the effects just right, but when he did…man, it worked like a class-A miracle," he smiled fondly. "Anyway, I got some of the stuff left. It should last long enough for yours to heal."

"Gabriel," Balthazar began hesitantly, "though I'm sure this worked for you, Emily is not an archangel, let alone…" he trailed off, clearing his throat. "Won't this be too strong?"

"No, it's safe. Someone I know has a pet falcon, and I used it on her when she got into an accident. It works on any wings, I think."

"_You think_?" Balthazar repeated.

"Yes," Gabriel said innocently. "Look, when have I ever been wrong about her?"

"How about when she was seven, and the older one was teaching her how to cook. You said, 'Oh, she's fine, let her explore,' but she burned herself when the macaroni tipped over," Balthazar said.

"That was because of you?!" she asked incredulously.

"Well, not _because_ of me," Gabriel defended weakly. "Look, just trust me on this? Please?"

Emily turned to look at Balthazar. "I will if you will," she smirked.

He sighed. "Fine, fine. But if anything happens, I swear–"

"Yeah, yeah, you'll rip out my teeth and shove 'em up my ass."

"I was going to say arse," Balthazar grumbled, uncapping the jar.

"I know," Gabriel smiled.


	48. Chapter 48

**_Seven years ago cont._**

"Alright, Em, lean back again," Gabriel instructed, his hand supporting her lower back as he helped her float. "Good," he muttered, hands immediately going to her wings.

As she lost insured balance of his hand on her back, she grabbed his pant leg. It was more of a comfort than an actual aid, and he couldn't hide his small smile. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes while the angels groomed her wings underwater. Her mind said the fact that she couldn't feel a thing meant that she should be in agony, but she quickly pushed that thought away, relaxing in the warm water. As Gabriel worked, he was sure to never move too far away where she would be forced to let go of his pants. Balthazar, on the other hand, moved where it was needed, weeding out the baby fluff she never groomed away and exposing patches of raw skin. In some places where the liquid from the emerging of her wings was never properly washed away, the skin and feather were in such poor condition where the bone was exposed.

Emily, however, remained oblivious, as she clung to her archangel's pant leg and allowed her thoughts to wander, marveling at the brilliance of the archangel's wings as they arced protectively over her head. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Gabriel was coaxing her back to her feet. "Alright, now for Mikey's stuff."

"Isn't that what you just did?" she asked.

"We had to clean you up first," he said, and it was then she noticed the water. It was no longer crystal clear but slightly murky and tainted red with bits of fluff and feathers floating along the surface.

"Here," he muttered, snapping his fingers. In an instant, the water was clear again, all traces of her grooming gone.

"Gabriel, you might want to do this next part, as you've had more practice," Balthazar said, handing him the jar.

He quickly agreed, asking Balthazar, "Could you sit where I was so Em can follow your wings?"

She watched Balthazar peel off his shirt, tossing it to the side, before two amazing silvery wings shimmered into existence, accenting the lighter values in his hair and bringing out his eyes. The feathers were a dark silver and not perfectly groomed as Gabriel's were. She thought it gave them character.

"There," he smiled insecurely, sitting were Gabriel had. "Not quite as magnificent as the archangel's, but I'm pretty fond of them," he joked.

"Balthazar, they're amazing," she breathed, racking her eyes over the expanse of feathers. She could swear he sat up straighter at her comment.

Gabriel, not so keen on his brother having all the attention, quickly brought them back to the topic at hand. "Alright, Em, follow Balthy's wings, just like mine."

She nodded, mirroring the angel's movement with one wing. She was surprised to find that it was easier to move her wings than her previous attempts, and it shot out further than Balthazar's before she retracted it and quickly became used to the new mobility.

She could feel Gabriel fingers ghost across the tip of her wing before they quickly returned, wet and ice cold. She flinched, wing jerking away from him. "Geez, what is that?" Balthazar was ridged where he sat, carefully catching their every move.

"Give it a sec," Gabriel promised.

As she opened her mouth to speak, the spot he had touched began to numb, and a tingling warmth took over. "Oh."

He chuckled. "See? It's fine," he said half to Emily and half to Balthazar, who visibly relaxed.

She reluctantly moved her wing back toward the archangel. She couldn't help but flinch slightly whenever Gabriel's icy fingers touched her wing, but she quickly adjusted to expect it. Her entire wing was covered in a thin layer of Michael's silvery liquid faster than she had anticipated. Before she knew it, Gabriel was prompting her to fold her wing back and stretch out the other.

She followed Balthazar's motions, adjusting the force of her push to match the speed and mobility of her wing until it stood fully extended, mirroring Balthazar's. "There ya go. You're getting a hang of it," Gabriel smiled.

The first flinch against the cold was the worst, before she quickly adapted to the feel, just as she had before. "So, what exactly is in this stuff?" she asked, brushing her hair away from her neck as his fingers began approaching the place where feathers met skin.

"Well, there were a few choice herbs from Dad's garden, uh…some oil secreted from Mikey's wings," he said quickly, as it to brush over that point, "and a bit of grace from Mikey and Luci."

"Grace, like angel's soul-type grace, like that type of grace?" she asked.

"Yeah," he hesitated, unsure of how she would react.

"Oh, cool," she breathed. "I didn't even know that was possible."

She could hear him laugh behind her as his fingers continued over the last part of her wing. "There," he muttered after a minute.

Her wing followed Balthazar's to tuck against her back, and they quickly shrunk down to the size of the tattoo and sank into her back, the black "ink" of her wings standing out in contrast with her pale skin.

"So you remember how to tuck them in but not bring them out?" Balthazar asked, twinkle of humor in his eyes.

"Well, sometimes when my emotions were really intense, they'd try and come out, but I had to control them quickly enough so that no one would see," she explained quickly.

"He was teasing," Gabriel muttered, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

"I kinda figured," she smiled up at him. "So where are we again?"

Balthazar, who had hopped of the bank of the pond to put the jar back in Gabriel's trunk, answered, "Eh, somewhere in France."


	49. Chapter 49

She could feel herself moving…being carried by someone. Thought the haze of pain, she was surprised she could feel anything at all. "Ga…" she groaned, using what strength she had left to open her eyes.

"It's me," Dean's voice was immediately there. "It's me, kid. I gotcha."

"Dean," she mumbled, head falling against his chest. Her vision was blurry and dull, and she couldn't make out his eyes. She could feel her wings dragging across the floor. "Dean…don't–" she broke off coughing.

"Take it easy, princess," he muttered, increasing his pace. "We're almost at the car."

"Dean…don't let Sam see."

"Okay, whatever you say. Won't let Sam see," he was mumbling now. She could hear a thud before fresh air filled her lungs and she was being pulled into someone else's arms.

"I'm here, love. I'm here." Balthazar tucked her into his chest before carefully folding her wings against her back so she could fit in the car.

As the stars above her head were replaced by the roof of the impala, she could feel the door close and Balthazar hover over her in the back seat. She flinched when his fingers touched her temple. "It's me," he quickly soothed. "Go to sleep, okay? It'll be better when you wake up."

She could feel a sedative run through her veins, and her eyes immediately began to droop closed. "Gabriel," she muttered, falling limp against Balthazar's arm as she passed out. She didn't feel the tear that fell onto her bare shoulder.

"No, we should be figuring out how to fix it!" someone said angrily before he was immediately hushed.

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" an accented voice hissed back.

She could tell that she was somewhere safe and warm, but not much else. It left like she had been sleeping for a week.

"I think–" Dean's voice was cut off as Emily groaned, her eyes fluttering open.

"Emily." Balthazar was immediately by her side, looking up at her.

Looking…looking up? "Balth," she mumbled into the pillow, realizing she was on her stomach.

"Shh," he mumbled, kissing her forehead.

She pushed against the bed, and, as soon as Balthazar realized what she was attempting, he immediately helped her sit up. A temporary dizzy spell caught her off guard as the room began to spin, and she leaned into Balthazar's arm, closing her eyes.

"Balthazar, we need to help her," Dean said quietly, receiving only a scowl in response. "Fix whatever Crowley did to her, and get her human again. Undo Crowley's curse. Do you understand me?"

"Human again?" Balthazar repeated. "Em, love, did…did you not tell them?"

She swallowed, shaking her head on his shoulder. He sighed, resting his head on hers for a moment.

"What? Tell me what?" Dean asked.

Emily pushed herself away from Balthazar and reluctantly opened her eyes. They were in Bobby's panic room, underneath the house. Dean was standing in front of her, an anxious look on her face. Sam was standing right behind him.

"Sam," she breathed face falling as her gaze hit the floor. "Dean you promised."

"I tried, princess, I really did. But you know I can't stop him." He paused. "Em…tell me what?"

Her hand found Balthazar's as she took a breath. "I…the wings…Crowley didn't curse me."

"Then what? I don't understand."

"Dean," her eyes swam as she looked up at him. _Please don't make me do this_.

Balthazar gently squeezed her hand, urging her to continue. Her stomach was in knots, and she could feel the beginning of a cold sweat on the back of her neck. "Dean, I…I'm not human. The wings are mine. I don't…I don't know what–"

She could hear his breath hitch, and she looked up to see him run a hand over his face, trying to calm himself. He was shaking. Behind him, Sam looked slightly betrayed, staring at her with an mixed expression. "Dean, I–"

"Don't," his voice cracked. Her stomach twisted again, and she couldn't breathe right. "How…" he paused, clearing his throat, voice shaking slightly. "How long have you known?"

A tear slipped down her cheek. "Sixteen," she muttered.

"Son of a bitch," he choked, running his hands through his hair and turning his back on her.

She opened her mouth to say something more, maybe apologize, only to shut it a moment later. "Look," he said, voice trembling with emotion. "I…"

Unable to finish his sentence, he walked out the door, not turning back.

She turned her broken gaze on Sam, who sighed and brushed the hair out of his face. "Look, Em…Dean – we're both – gonna need some time to process this, okay? I…I love you, Emmy, and…and you not being human doesn't change that."

Her head bowed and she shut her eyes against the tears spilling over. "Em…" She could hear him hesitantly make his way over and drop to his knees in front of her. His tight arms were suddenly around her, and she let herself sob into his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"Listen to me. You have nothing to be sorry for. Dean has forgiven me for worse. He…he just needs some time to process it all," he told her, rubbing soothing patterns into her back. She flinched as the sounds of Bobby and Dean screaming at each other suddenly echoed down the hall. Sam only pulled her closer, gently stroking her hair.

When the garage door slammed, she flinched again, tightening her grip on Sam. Her breathing finally settled only with exhaustion, as she slouched in Sam's arms, completely spent.

"Is she asleep?" Sam asked quietly. She could hear him, but she didn't have enough energy to respond.

"Yes, I believe so," Balthazar muttered. She could feel his weight lift off the cot before Sam gently liad her down on her stomach, her wings flopped over to one side of the bed, bandaged and broken.

"Does Bobby know?" Sam asked, pulling a sheet up to her waist.

The angel hesitated. "Yes."

She heard Sam sigh, and he brushed away a stray hair from her face. "Is she gonna be alright?"

"Physically, yes. Emotionally…I don't know if she can take Dean not begin okay with this. When John took you and left, it almost killed her," he paused. "I just don't know if she can go through it again."

"I'll talk to Dean."

"Sam–" Balthazar tried to warn him.

"Just…I'll talk to him, okay?" Sam hesitated before she heard his footsteps recede out the door.

There was the gentle scraping sound of one of Bobby's wooden chairs, and she heard Balthazar sink into the seat beside her, gently stroking her head. "I'm here. Even if–" he broke off. "Even if he's not."


	50. Chapter 50

50 She awoke to the pungent smell of coffee under her nose. Groaning, she rolled onto her side to face the coffee holder.

"Mornin' kid," he gave her a sad smile, giant, steaming white mug in his hand.

"Hey Bobby," she muttered voice hoarse.

"Here," he handed her the cup, carefully helping her up and making sure she didn't spill it before dropping into Balthazar's chair.

The first sip stung as she swallowed, leaving a tingling feeling in its wake. The next was much better, the arousing her until she felt awake and fully conscious again. "Where's Balthazar?" she finally asked.

"Made him take a walk, get some fresh air. Boy hasn't left your side."

"He's not quite a boy, Bobby," she gave him a weak smile, taking another sip of coffee.

"I know." He paused, making sure she drank more. "Listen, kid…Dean wants to talk to you. You have every right to say no, and if he puts a damn toe out of line–"

"Yeah," she interrupted. "Yeah, Bobby, I'll talk to him. Where…where is he?"

"He's outside working on that damn car," he sighed, leaning back in the char. "I think I figured out a counter to whatever Crowley did so you can put your wings right again…you know, put 'em away."

"They freak you out," she stated, staring into the swirl of brown in her mug.

"How many times have we had this damn conversation? They do not freak me out. I wouldn't be freaked out if you grew three heads! I just want you to be comfortable, and I know you like puttin' them away," he explained.

She raised an eyebrow. "Three heads?"

"You know what I mean," he sighed. "I'm gonna have a quick talk with the angel, see what he thinks before we try it out."

"Okay." The room was silent for a while as he watched her finish her coffee.

"Do you want me to get Dean?" he asked hesitantly, taking the empty mug from her.

She nodded. "Okay."

She swore she could hear his knees creak as he stood up, but she didn't mention anything as he walked out the door. She arched one her wing so the tip was in front of her, and she gently fingered the gold on the tips of each feather, remember a time when the vibrant color hadn't been there. As Dean's footsteps descended the stairs, she immediately pulled the wing behind her back, hiding it from view.

Dean looked, in a word, awful. His eyes were sunken in as if he hadn't slept in weeks, and the knuckles on his right hand were bandaged over. "Hey," he muttered, glancing at her for a second before taking the seat by her bed.

"Dean–"

"Wait. Just…let me go first," he said, refusing to meet her eyes.

She fell silent, fidgeting with her hands. "I…" He stopped, taking a deep breath. "I think I'm going to be okay with this – I just have a couple questions, okay?"

She nodded, playing with a button on her shirt. "Did my dad know?"

"I think so."

"And that's why…"

"Yeah, I think."

"Can…" Dean hesitated. "Can you tell me how you found out, and why…and why you didn't tell me?" Despite his best attempt, he couldn't hide the way his voice quivered.

"It was, uh…it was my sixteen birthday. John was hunting and you and Sammy were doing something secret in the kitchen while I took a shower. My, uh, my back had been itching all day, but I hadn't really thought about it. They…they came out of by back while I was in the shower, and I just…I didn't know what to do. I was terrified. Thought John…though John might," she broke off in a shuddering sigh, pushing the hair from her face. "I didn't want to tell you because I knew how John was with the job, and I knew some of it had rubbed off on you. I though, because I'm not human, you…you wouldn't be able to see past it. Thought you might…" she didn't want to say it.

"You thought I might kill you?" Dean's voice was thick with emotion, and she could tell he felt betrayed.

"I didn't know, Dean. I was scared. I didn't know what was happening," she said, meeting his eyes. They were both on the verge of tearing up, but he refused to reach out to her.

"I'm sorry," she said, dropping her gaze.

"I just need some time to get used to–" he broke off at the sound of footsteps thudding down the stairs.

As Balthazar whirled into the room, he pulled Dean up by his shirt. "What are you doing here?" he growled.

"She's important to me, too! Why can't I see her?" he angrily shot back.

"Stop!" Emily screamed, pushing the angel away from Dean. "What the hell? I thought you two had worked this shit out!"

"After the stunt he pulled yesterday–"

"I don't care what the hell he did yesterday, Balthazar! Don't touch him!"

The angel's fiery gaze met Dean's before returning to her. "Fine. I'm sorry."

"You better be," she grumbled under her breath. She suddenly realized that when she jumped in her wings had shot up in a defensive position, shielding Dean. Heart in her throat, she tucked them close to her back. "Sorry, Dean," she said quietly, avoiding his eyes.

He was spared responding as Bobby's footsteps echoed down the stairs. "I got the translation," he was saying, before he looked up at the former standoff. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Emily responded, sitting down on the cot again.

"Anyway, I got the transition. Your angel and I can try the mojo now, if you want," he said, glancing between the three of them.

"Sure."

Balthazar moved to sit next to her, and there was suddenly a knife in his hand. "Whoa!" Dean jumped to his feet, still distrusting the angel. "What's that for?"

Balthazar sighed in annoyance. "The spell requires a blood bond between an angel and–" he cut off, clearing his throat. "I'll heal it after."

"And a what?" Dean asked impatiently.

"He's not allowed to say," Emily explained. "Bobby, can we…"

"Yeah, course," he glanced at Dean before beginning to read off something in Latin.

"I'm going to cut my hand and say a phrase in Latin," Balthazar explained. "When I cut you, repeat the phrase."

"Got it," she nodded, watching him. He began speaking, making a quick gash in his palm as he said a certain word.

She held out her hand to him, quickly repeating the phrase verbatim and barely wincing as the knife passed through her skin.

Balthazar looked expectantly up at Bobby, waiting for a certain phrase. He gently cradled her hand in his good one, letting the blood pool in her palm. As Bobby apparently hit the right phrase, Balthazar's hand was immediately on hers, and she could feel a shock jump through the veins of her arm, spasming in her chest before traveling into her wings. The stretched out to their full length, glowing slightly with the electricity, before she folded them toward her back and they morphed gently back into the black marks. Emily immediately dropped her posture, slumping into Balthazar's shoulder.


	51. Chapter 51

"Emily?" Dean was immediately at her side, gently cradling her limp form.

A shudder tore through her body, her spine going ridged, before her eyes shot open. They glowed brightly for a moment before fading back into their normal light brown, and her entire body relaxed, leaning into Dean.

Balthazar's fingers gently brushed her palm, now completely healed, before reluctantly releasing her. "Em?" Dean asked quietly, cradling her face in one of his giant hands. "Princess?"

"I'm fine," she mumbled, voice strained.

Before Dean could replay, panicked footsteps thudded down the stairs before Sam rounded the corner, gun drawn. "What's going on? The lights were flickering."

"It's fine, Sam," Bobby quickly explained. "We just reversed the curse Crowley put on Emily. She can put her wings away now."

Sam hesitated. "Oh." Although his body language relaxed, he seemed uncomfortable with the situation before him. "Is she okay?"

"I'm fine, Gigantor," she gave him weak thumbs up, which didn't seem to help him much.

"Why don't you lay down, princess," Dean offered quietly.

"Don't want to," she mumbled.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was hesitant, almost as if he didn't want to speak at all. "Can…can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Yeah, Sam." Dean gently pulled away from Emily, leaning her against the angel. "I'll be right back, sweetheart, okay?"

She nodded closing her eyes. As soon as Dean was out of earshot, she asked quietly, "Balthazar?"

"Yes, love?" he responded, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her close.

"Where…" she swallowed. "Where's Gabriel? I'm starting to think he's in trouble. If something…if something like this happened to me, he would've been here."

"Emily–"

"Please, just tell me," she begged. She was met with only silence. Growling in frustration, she pushed herself off him, losing her balance on the cot and slipping to the floor.

Dean was faster than Bobby, and he gently pulled her back up, Sam close on his heels. "Easy, tiger, easy. You okay?"

"I'm fine," she snarled, pushing him away as well to stand on her own, shaking slightly with fatigue.

"Okay, okay," Dean immediately backed off. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I just–" she paused, angry tears forming in her eyes. "I just need Gabriel."

Dean's posture immediately changed. "The Gabriel Ellen told me about?" he asked softly. "He's the archangel?"

She nodded, fisting her torn shirt. "Em," he began carefully, "I'm sure that more than anything in the world he'd want to be here with you right now–"

Her head shot up. "You used past tense." Dean's eyebrows furrowed, not understanding her. "You used past tense," she repeated. "Where is he? What happened to him?"

"She doesn't know?" Sam asked Balthazar incredulously.

"What don't I know?!" she practically screamed.

Balthazar hung his head in guilt, refusing to answer. Dean's voice was in his throat.

"A-a while ago, the, uh…the apocalypse broke out," Sam began, moving closer to her. "Lucifer–"

"I know, I know. Lucifer was walking topside. When I heard he was gone I figured it had to be you two. What does that have to do with Gabriel?" she asked impatiently.

"We…we were stuck, Dean and I. We'd been captured by a group of gods who wanted to use us as a peace offering to give to Lucifer and stop the apocalypse. Gabriel…he burst in, rescued us. But one of the gods had already made the call to Lucifer–"

"No, Sammy," she muttered, her mind jumping to the conclusion. "He's my best friend."

Sam's heart broke as he watched her face fall. "Emmy, he got us out. Faced Lucifer alone."

"No!" she screamed, walking away from him, hands digging into her hair.

"I'm so sorry, Em–"

"NO!" Her legs collapsed underneath her, and her wings instinctively formed a protective bubble around herself. Her heartbeat was so loud in her head that she could barely hear anything else.

"Emily–" Sam tried to say before Bobby cut him off.

"Boys, get out, now!" he ordered, panic in his voice.

"Bobby, I'm not leaving her–" Dean's voice was hoarse and broken, and she knew he was crying.

"You don't have a choice." He was somehow able to get the brothers outside the panic room, slamming the door behind the three of them just in time.

_Gone. He was gone._ A dark gold unearthly glow had begun forming around Emily, pulsing from her torso. With an almighty bang, a shockwave shook the room as from her body fell limp, and a bright, quivering ball of golden light hovered in the center of the room. Tendrils of light whipped around the center mass, creating a fierce wind that tore at anything that wasn't bolted to the floor.

For Emily there was only quiet. No heartbeat, no screaming, no Balthazar. She wasn't in the panic room anymore but in her own mind, flying anywhere she wanted. She found herself on the Moon, reliving the time Gabriel took her there. It was one of her favorite memories of him.

There were always three sides to Gabriel. One was fierce, protecting those he loved with a violent passion. The true embodiment of God's fiercest warrior. Perhaps her favorite was the sweet-toothed trickster, who loved to cuddle and didn't have a care in the world. But the Gabriel that was on the Moon…that was the one she rarely got to see.

He kept this side of him hidden from everyone, even himself sometimes. It was the heartbroken child, longing for the home he couldn't go back to. Longing for his family to be at peace for once, like how it was before humanity, before his brother fell. She understood why he never addressed this part of himself because she had one too. And it's painful.

At first she was taken by surprise at the sight of the Earth from the surface of the Moon. It was more beautiful than she ever could've imagined. In the splendor of that moment, there were no wars, no death, nothing evil. It seemed so pure and good. And she could see so many stars – billions! Even in the darkest fields of Kansas, you couldn't get a view like this. Her eyes raked over the Milky Way, it's arm trailing across the expanse of her vision like one of God's brush strokes as he painted the universe into existence.

Then she looked over at Gabriel. He was staring at the Earth, blank expression on his face. She knew he was slipping away, so she gently slid her hand into his, staring down at the wonderful, blue marble beside him.

He didn't move for a long time, just standing there. Just as she began to lose hope, she felt his grip tighten, finally acknowledging her presence. It was even longer before he spoke.

"You know…for the longest time I actually hated humanity," he admitted quietly. "I hated Dad for having the idea, hated Lucifer for going against Him, hated Michael for going against Luci…almost got to the point where I hated the Earth. Of course, Dad knew what was going on, and he told me to go down there one day, just to see. I told him no, that I despised humanity for destroying my family, forcing Michael to send Luci away. I told him humanity sins. Asked him how he could think they were still so perfect even after Lucifer corrupted them."

Gabriel paused, continuing to stare intently down at Earth, Emily's hand the only thing that grounded him in reality. "Dad, hearing me out, still insisted that I went down. Just to see, he said. Just give them a chance – decide for myself. Of course I obeyed, I mean, it's Dad. I was really skeptical at first. I didn't want to be there. Then I met this woman…the most amazing woman. She was strong, passionate…a fiery soul. She was the most faithful person I've ever seen." She could see a faint smile on his face as he talked about his friend. Emily tried to suppress the twinge of jealousy she felt.

"She was kind to me, taking me into her home and offering me food. I could see what Dad meant then. Even with what Lucifer had done, there were still people like her. The best kind. Dad had me go back a couple years later…tell her she was pregnant. I have big plans for that one, he said. Big plans. And it was all her, that amazing, fiery woman. I don't know if anyone else could've gone through what she did and come out of it whole." He paused again, squeezing her hand. "You remind me of her sometimes."

Emily looked up at him in shock, astonished that he had just compared her to the Virgin Mary. She stayed silent, knowing that if she commented, he wouldn't continue talking. She would lose this moment with him.

"When the fighting got bad," he continued, "Dad…he just up and left one day. I…I couldn't take it anymore, so I left, too. I went into hiding as a trickster, making my family the other minor gods and goddesses. They knew me as Loki. But something…something didn't feel right. I loved them like they were my own, but something was missing.

"Then one day, I saw Balthazar again. I knew…well, he was going through a complicated time. It'd been four years since that, but he never got over it. And I couldn't blame him; I mean, I wouldn't have been able to either." Although she had no idea what he was talking about, she let him continue. "Well, I saw him, and he was watching over the most beautiful, broken little girl. She had these little blond curls, and she always clung to that stupid little teddy bear. But her soul…her soul was the most beautiful, pure thing I have ever seen. I watched her cling to that old teddy bear, no idea I was even there. And just like that it was over. Heaven lost me to those pigtails. That little piece of my heart I'd been missing – so small but so overwhelmingly important – I finally found it. I finally found you."

She wasn't looking at the Earth anymore, only at him. His head turned, and he gazed into her shimmering eyes. Her heart felt so full it hurt, and she never wanted this moment to end. She could see in his eyes…that wisdom, the longing, the love. And then he smiled, and her heart shattered into a million, wonderful little pieces. She slammed into him, hugging him close to her, never wanting to lose him.

He wrapped his arms around her in return. There was so much she needed to tell him, so much he needed to know. But there are just no words for how she felt, no letters that can make up the extent of the love she felt for him. It was frustrating, needing him to know what she felt but having no way to communicate it.

"I know," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. "I know. And I'm not going anywhere. I love you, Emily Winchester. I wouldn't be the same without you."


	52. Chapter 52

"Emily!" It was very faint. She almost didn't hear him screaming. "Emily!"

She ignored it, tightening her grip on Gabriel. "Sweetheart," Gabriel whispered. "You need to go."

"No I don't. I'm here with you," she argued quietly, a tear slipping down her cheek.

She could feel him sigh as the voice screamed out again. "Emily, please!"

"I don't want to," she sobbed quietly into his shirt.

"I know. I know you don't. But Dean has something that will make it better. I promise," he assured her, rubbing her back.

"Emily!" She finally recognized the voice as Balthazar's. "Please…" he sounded broken, "I know I've never been good enough. He was always the one who could get through to you in the end. I know I've never been who you wanted me to be, but I'm trying the best I can. Emily, please…"

"He needs you, Emily," Gabriel said quietly. "Just like I did."

"Stop it!" her scream was muffled in his shoulder. "Stop saying everything in past tense!"

"Emily, sweetheart, look," Gabriel muttered.

"What?" she mumbled into his shirt.

"Just turn around and look."

She reluctantly obeyed, turning away from her angel but never losing contact with his body. They weren't on the moon anymore, but in one of the magnificent hotel rooms they had occupied in France. Emily could see herself in the kitchen, cooking alongside Balthazar. She had forgotten where Gabriel had gone that night, but it was just the two of them.

"Salt," Balthazar said, expectantly holding out his hand.

While stirring the sauce in her pot, Emily reached over to hand him the container with her free arm. "You got the oregano?" she asked.

"Yup," he smirked, temporarily taking the focus off his pan to give her the herb.

"Grazie," she smiled, sprinkling the contents of the jar into the sauce.

"Darling, we're in France. It's m_erci_," he corrected, humor in his voice.

She laughed, "Yeah, whatever."

"Pst, Emily," he muttered, coy smile playing across his lips.

"Huh?" Her focus was on the sauce as white powder suddenly invaded her vision. "Did you just–"

Balthazar immediately backed off, floured hands raised in surrender. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Oh it is on!" she squealed, tossing a handful of flour from the bowl into his face.

He laughed, immediately retaliating. Within seconds, they were entirely covered in flour, the little white particles dancing throughout the kitchen. As Balthazar grabbed the bowl and proceeded to dump the entire contents onto her head, she squealed happily, "No, Dad, stop!"

He immediately froze, the bowl tipped at an odd angle, occasionally dropping pinches of flour which fell around them like snow. "What?" he barely dared to breath.

Her hands flew to her mouth. "I'm sorry, it slipped! I didn't – I mean – _shit!"_

"Do you mean that?" he asked, his face remaining stoic.

"I…" she floundered for words as she anxiously searched his face for any sign of a tell. She sighed, preparing herself for the worst. "Yeah. I guess, yeah. I do."

To her great surprise, he began to smile. Small at first, before he finally started laughing. "Really?"

"Look, you don't have to go and make me feel like an ass – Balth…what?" He had swept her into a tight hug, and she swore she felt something wet on her shoulder.

From Emily's angle in the kitchen now, she could see Balthazar's face over her own shoulder as he hung on to her duplicate. It struck her that he looked so relieved, and that he in fact had been crying. She tentatively reached out her arm, gently wiping the tear from her angel's face. "Balthazar," she breathed.

"He needs you, Em," Gabriel said quietly.

"But I need you," she spun around to face him again. "What am I going to do without you?"

"What you've been doing for the past year," he smiled brokenly. "And besides, you need to watch his sorry butt while I'm gone."

"How am I going to do it without you?" she asked desperately.

"You've been doing an amazing job so far," he muttered, kissing the top of her head.

She stepped into another hug, leaning her head against his chest. "You're my best friend, Gabriel."

His grip tightened on her. "And your mine."

"Now go on," he urged, finally stepping away from her. "They need you. What's Dean's clumsy ass going to do without you? And little Sammy?"

"They can live without me. They've been doing it for years," she repeated what Gabriel had said to her.

"Balthazar can't." She had no response to that. "Please, Em. If not for him, then for me."

"How am I talking to you right now," she suddenly wondered aloud.

"You'll see, sweetheart. You'll see. Now go on," he smiled sadly.

"I love you, Gabe."

"I love you more."

She stepped back, away from her angel, and she was suddenly falling through the darkness, landing heavily back in her own body, lying on the panic room floor. "Balthazar," she whispered hoarsely.

"I'm here," he was immediately by her side, cradling her in his arms. "I'm here."

"I'm sorry," she sobbed.

"Shh, it's okay, love. It's okay."


	53. Chapter 53

She was groggy when she awoke, and it took her a second to recognize where she was. The dark walls of the panic room were gone, replaced by the flowered wallpaper of the guest bedroom. There was a moment of blissful ignorance before everything from yesterday – was it yesterday? – came crashing down on her. A stray tear escaped before she quickly brushed it away and sat up.

Making sure she was alone, she carefully slipped off her shirt and stretched out her wings. They seemed to glow in the light from the window, even through the bandages that were wrapped over about seventy percent of her wings. She carefully reached out to touch one of the golden tips of her feathers, remembering waking up that one morning a couple years ago, stretching out her wings just as she had done today, only to have Gabriel walk in on her.

She immediately shrieked at him to get out, quickly covering herself with her nightshirt, her wings disappearing from his sight. He had immediately protested, pleading with her to take them out again.

"Gabriel, I'm not wearing a shirt! And it's not like you haven't seen them a hundred times before," she had said, referring to her wings.

He had said something about how God meant for his creations to be naked, and yada-yada-yada. In the end, she had stretched out her wings again, letting her archangel's eyes roam over the feathers. He stood there for what felt like an eternity before she finally got impatient and snapped at him, demanding to know what was going on. He showed her the tips of her wings, and her eyes grew wide at the tiny specks of gold that had begun to crawl up her feathers. The very tip of each feather had turned a solid gold, as though someone had just barely brushed the edges of her wings in paint while she slept.

Before she knew what was going on, Gabriel had taken his shirt off and his middle wing mirrored hers, flattening itself against her feathers so it created a gold border around her. It was only then that she realized the gold on her wing was the same shade as Gabriel's wings.

Her heart skipped as she stared at how the colors complimented each other. "What does that mean?" she had asked him.

"It means we're best friends." He reached up to tuck as strand of hair behind her ear, his chest pressed against her back. She could see familiar gleam in his eye, and she was immediately on guard for one of his crazy ideas.

His hand was lingering by her head, playing with a stray strand of hair. "Can I…can I do something?"

When she spoke, her voice was quiet, as this was oddly intimate to her. "You know what I'll kick your ass for and what I won't. Just be careful."

He reached over to his wing, carefully choosing three of his most pliable and pristine feathers before forcefully ripping them from his wing. "Gabriel, what are you doing?!" she had exclaimed, turning to face his idiotic grin.

Instead of replying, he pulled the three feathers together, overlapping and attaching them, but not quite making a single feather. It was more like an invisible string had tied them, ensuring that they were in a single line and that they stayed together, while each feather swept out from the center. He pulled back the strand of hair from her face, his eyes raking over that section of her hair. Apparently choosing a spot he pressed the base of the topmost feather to her scalp before it gently formed with her skin, acting as a strand of hair. It was in the perfect spot on her head where she could conceal it if she chose to, or show the world that Gabriel was hers and she was his.

She looked up at him in awe, unable to find the words. Before he could stop her, she yanked out one of her favorite feathers, suppressing a wince, and held it out to him. She couldn't do the whole angle mojo thing, but she hoped this would be enough.

He stared at her for a moment, understanding but not quite believing. Gingerly taking the perfect feather from her open hand, he trailed a gentle finger over it, admiring how it shone in the light. To her utter astonishment, he pressed the feather into the inside of his wing, bonding it to himself. Whenever he opened his wings, everyone would know.

She smiled up at him, her face conveying what her words couldn't. To her delight, he smiled right back, pulling her into a tight hug.

Now, Emily flopped back on the bed, her wings beneath her. There was a sick feeling in her stomach like she was missing an organ. She prayed that someone could sweep her into a hug and fix this.

But there was no gentle knock on her door, no one's arms to fall into, no perfect angel to make it right. She had to do this herself. The first day of the rest of her life.

Part of her scolded herself for being so dramatic, but it was the truth. She always had him to rely on. Now he was gone.

She sighed, sitting up again and pulling on a pair of jeans, desperately trying to ignore the emptiness in her gut. When she pulled her wings back into her skin, the tattoo that replaced them was broken and bandaged. She couldn't help but sigh again, pulling on of Dean's old shirts over her head.

As she carefully made her way downstairs, tightly gripping the banister, she could hear muffled voices in the kitchen, but she was unable to make out what they were saying. When her foot hit the last step, the voices immediately stopped, and she rounded to corner to see Balthazar standing alone in the kitchen, staring at her.

"Who were you talking to?" she asked groggily.

"No one," he said, pulling a glass of water from thin air and handing it to her. "You need to drink."

"Not thirsty," she lied, glancing around the room. "Where is everybody?"

He complied with her change of subject, saying "They went to meet a-a woman – doctor? – about Purgatory."

She hesitated. "Oh."

Balthazar was silent for a moment, an unnatural, awkward silence falling between them. "How…how are you doing?" he finally asked.

"Good," she said too quickly, then, "good," as if to convince herself.

"Emily," he took a step forward only to have her shy away and move to the living room, pretending that something had caught her interest. She refused to look at him because she already knew the heartbroken look that would be written across his face, not matter how hard he tried to hide it.

The impala suddenly rumbled into the driveway, breaking some of the tension between the two. Her original intention was to quickly glance at Balthazar, gauging his reaction to the car; however, as soon as her eyes met his, she couldn't look away. It was like watching a train wreck, the way his eyes showed every arduous year he's been alive and all the sorrow and loss that had come with living for millennia.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, her heart breaking at his expression.

"Emily, I–"

The door swung open, and Balthazar choked back his words, taking a long drink from the glass of water he had conjured for her.

Bobby came in first, immediately followed by Dean, cradling an unconscious Sam in his arms.

"Sammy?" she called out desperately, only to have Bobby hold her back as Dean carried his brother downstairs to the panic room. "What the hell happened?"

"Castiel happened," Bobby growled, a barely checked rage in his eyes.


	54. Chapter 54

She pushed past Bobby and an overwhelmed Balthazar, following her boys into the basement. Dean was standing over the bed as her Sam lay unmoving on the metal cot. "Dean?"

He jumped, spinning around to face her. Her heart caught in her throat as his fiery eyes pinned her in place. She would never forget the glare he gave her that day, for as long as she lived. It was terrifying.

"Get out." His voice was low, barely audible.

"Dean–"

"Get out!" he roared, taking a threatening step toward her.

She ran.

That was all she could do, the only option Dean had left her with. She pushed past Bobby on the stairs and shoved her way through the door, her vision blurring with tears. Balthazar wasn't in the kitchen when she ran past, but her mind barely registered the fact. As soon as the front door slammed open, her wings ripped through her shirt, and, with one almighty down-stroke, she was airborne.

However, her grief had clouded her brain, and she had completely forgotten how extensive the damage to her wings was. Her "flight" was more like a seventy foot jump, which slammed her into the top branches of the trees across from Bobby's house. Her wings had pulled back into her skin before the crash, and her bare back crashed through the branches. The smaller twigs whipped against her back, leaving angry gashes in their wake. The ground knocked the wind from her lungs, and she had to fight for a moment to breathe. When her chest finally expanded with the blessed air, she opened her eyes. From her position on the ground, she could see the branches arching up towards the sun and the empty patch where she had fallen.

Emily found that she didn't even have the strength to cry. She just laid there, despondent and broken, thinking about the way Dean had looked at her. The anger, betrayal, terror…what had she done to deserve that. As she laid there, her thoughts took a darker turn, and she began to think about April 14, 1996.

_I lied to you. At the beginning of this story, my story, I told you about the time I had found Dean's necklace in the trash can of that sleazy motel. I told you that I though about suicide that day, but that the thought of Dean prevented me from taking my own life. That's not what happened. _

_I drove my truck for a few miles, before I couldn't see through the tears anymore. I pulled it over into a cornfield by the side of the road, far enough in so that I had some privacy. I laid in the truck bed, Dean's old hunting knife in my hand. I couldn't imagine a life without them, living with this pain every day and knowing that there was no way for me to see them again. I would never be able to hold little Sammy in my arms after a bad hunt. I could never be there for Dean, when I knew something was getting at him, but he was too manly to admit it. I'd never have the chance to explain to John that I couldn't help who I was; I couldn't help that I was born this way. _

_You need to understand, I didn't have the angels back then. When I found out that John had died, I left, traveling across the country, trying desperately to find them so I could…I don't even know what my plan was once I found them. I just knew I had to. _

_I had decided it in my mind, that life without my brothers just wasn't worth it. The thought hadn't crossed my mind that they could still be alive. I pressed the cold steel against the skin of my wrist, taking a deep breath. On the exhale, I pushed the hilt forward, slicing through my flesh and severing an artery. I had expected to become lightheaded at the loss of blood before I finally passed out and died, but that's not what happened at all. A soft golden light had begun glowing from inside my wrist, very faint but there. I watched as the light grew brighter, and I could feel something moving on the inside of my wrist. When the light finally faded and I was able to see what was going on, the artery had reattached and sealed itself, but the rest of the cut was unhealed and bleeding. _

_After that day, I tried everything I could, from overdosing and poisoning to shooting myself in the head. Nothing, _nothing_ worked. Until one day, I was standing on the very top of the Eifel Tower, wings outstretched. I moved my leg to step off, before someone's arm was wrapped securely around my waist, pulling my back. I started to fight back, before I saw a flash of gold in my peripheral vision, and Gabriel's voice was suddenly in my ear, soft and broken. _

_"They're alive. Please, Emily, stop what you're trying to do. Just…just stop." A tear slipped down my cheek, but my posture was ridged as I refused to lean into his touch. "Think about what you're doing."_

_I had, though. I'd thought about this for so long, yearned for a way out. I watched silently as his wings pressed themselves to mine, arching protectively over me. I couldn't bring myself to believe that my brothers were still out there. It just seemed like false hope._

_"Show me," I whispered hoarsely. There was a sinking feeling in my gut, as Paris was ripped away from me, and I was falling. Before I could process what was happening, I was standing outside a rundown motel, the impala parked outside door 37. Gabriel's arm was still tight around my waist, as I watched the motel door suddenly swing open. Dean stepped out first, giving a quick glance around the parking lot before moving to the impala. He was taller than I remembered, but his eyes were still that brilliant shade of green. It struck me that it was his car now, after John died. For some reason, that fact never registered until then. But something didn't seem right. With all six of Gabriel's bright, golden wings spread and shining in the sun, Dean should've seen…_

_"Why can't he see us?" I asked quietly. _

_"Don't want him to," was the archangel's simple answer, his voice still full of pain. _

_Whatever I was going to say flew from my mind as Sam stepped into the sunlight. His hair was in his eyes now, flopping over his ears. He was even taller than Dean, and he had filled out. His scrawny limbs were now muscular, and his chest was stretching out his shirt. _

_I watched the two of them banter for a moment, before Dean cracked the final joke, at Sam's expense, of course, before slipping into the driver's seat and starting the car. As the engine roared to life, Sammy ducked into the passenger seat, almost needing to bend in half in order to fit properly. _

_I chuckled lightly, but my throat quickly constricted as I watched them, tears stinging my eyes. I tried to pull against Gabriel, wanting to follow the car which was pulling out onto the road, but he held me back. _

_"Not yet."_

_"Why?" I sobbed, struggling against his grip._

_He hesitated. "You'll see them when you're meant to."_

_"What does that mean?" Gabriel finally let go, and I spun around to face him, my wings bristling in furry. The look on his face caught me off guard, and I faltered._

_His wings were drooping by his side, and his eyes were dull, glazed over in pain. My wings lowered slightly, and I could feel the expression on my face soften. My gaze dropped to the ground. _

_"Gabriel…please…_please_, tell me this is real. Without them, I…" I couldn't continue without breaking down. _

_"It is. I promise." His words shattered something inside my chest, and I couldn't help the strangled sob that escaped. _

_My archangel hesitantly walked toward me, carefully gauging my reactions to see if I was going to attack him. When his arms wrapped tightly around me shoulders, I just lost it. It felt like I had no control over my body as I just cried into his shoulder, hanging onto his shirt for dear life. I find myself chuckling at the irony now, but it didn't even cross my mind then. It was such a sudden switch in attitude that it completely blindsided me. _

_"What's wrong with me?" I gasped through the tears. _

_"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You're perfect, Emily. You understand me? Perfect," he practically growled, pulling me closer. _

_"I need help, Gabe," I admitted between sobs. _

_I could feel him swallow before he spoke, and when he did, his voice cracked. "I know. And I'm here. I've got you."_

_"I know. You always do."_


	55. Chapter 55

_But April 14, 1996 was different. Gabriel wasn't there to pull me out of the fire. It was a situation similar to the one now, without Gabriel or Dean to confide in. I was fifteen, and I was living in an ignorant bliss. It was my sixteenth birthday, and we were finishing a rather difficult hunt, taking down a werewolf in Michigan. It should've been fairly easy, but it was a smarter one. And it didn't help that we split up. _

_John had taken Sam and gone left, while Dean and I went right. When we heard the gunshots, Dean immediately ran back, trying to find his family. I was going to follow, but before I could move, I was roughly pinned to the wall by my jacket . There had been a second werewolf, the mate, that we were unaware of. I could feel it's breath on my neck as its teeth barely grazed my skin, and a wet tongue flattened itself against me, licking a stripe up my throat. I kicked out, ducking beneath its arm and tearing myself out of my coat. Before I could get far enough, the werewolf 's claw had ripped through my back, three long gashes tearing through fabric, skin, and muscle. _

_Suppressing a scream, I rolled over, burying my gun into its chest and emptying the clip, the gunshots muffled by its clothing. The corpse collapsed on top of me, the warm, sticky blood flowing onto my shirt. Before anyone could notice I was missing, I managed to shove the body to the side, and shakily rise to my feet. I zipped up the jacket I had discarded over my shirt to hide the bloodstains, ignoring the pain in my back. It didn't even occur to me that this was my first kill. _

_I count this as part of April 14 because it was after midnight, so technically, it was that morning. The morning my life went to shit. John gave me hell for splitting up, but he got over it pretty quickly when he thought that everyone was fine. He dropped us off at the motel, barely ensuring that we had unlocked the door before speeding away to find the closest bar. _

_Dean quickly figured out that I was hurt, and he stitched me up in the bathroom while Sam did something on his laptop. The three of us managed to catch a few hours of shut eye before John was bustling around the room, still running on a significant buzz. He was gone in an hour or two, scouting out the next hunt. _

_I decided to take a shower then, washing away the grime from the night before. It was while the stream of hot water was running down my back the wings emerged, tearing some of the perfect stitching that Dean had done early that morning. It terrified me, the realization that I wasn't human. Knowing John's protocols when it came to this job, I figured I should be dead. I stayed in the bathroom longer than I had any right to, but Dean let it slide, see as how it was my birthday. _

_I lived in fear the next few months, until John finally confronted me about it, outside the impala that summer day. I was riding the high from the success of the last hunt, and, well, you know, I never saw it coming. _

_Anyway…where was I?_

She laid there for what felt like hours, staring up at the sky, watching the broken branches sway in the breeze, and letting the open wounds on her back sit in the dirt. She just didn't care.

It still wasn't clear to her, back in Paris, whether it was Gabriel who had talked her off the ledge or the fact that Sam and Dean were alive. She thought about that for a while, before she left her thoughts drift, not really thinking about anything. If it was up to her, she probably would've let herself rot there in the dirt of that forest.

Before she was able to process what was going on, Bobby was cradling her in his arms. "Bobby?" she whispered.

"Jesus, kid," he breathed, pulling her close to his chest. He immediately noticed the stickiness of his fingers, and he pulled them up to his eye level to see the blood. "We gotta get you back."

She shook her head, leaning into his chest. "Dean's downstairs," he said. "He's not gonna bother you."

Emily was a firm as she could be about her answer as she weakly looked up at him. "Bobby, I can't."

"Em–"

"I'm sorry," she cut him off, lowering her gaze and letting her head thump against him once more.

"For what?" he muttered.

"I've never been…You've always been there for me, Bobby. You're like my dad, and there's nothing I wouldn't so for you. But I've…I've treated you like…_crap_."

"No, Emi–"

"_Yes_. Yeah, Bobby I have. I take off for two years, you think I'm dead. And then I only called a few times a month. I've always put the boys above you…I never really thought… After everything I put you through, you deserve better."

"You know damn well that's not true," he grumbled. "You're the daughter I never had. Nothing you do is gonna make me love you any less, and you have never, _never_, done me wrong. You hear me?"

"Bobby–"

"You understand me? I all need from you is to know you're happy and healthy."

She sighed, closing her eyes. "Thanks, Bobby," she whispered.

"Let's get you cleaned up, okay?" he said quietly, shifting his weight to pick her up.

She jerked at the pain consuming her back before Bobby quickly moved his arm away from the raw area. "Shit, I'm sorry – I'm sorry," he repeated, gently lifting her off the ground.

"N-no, Bobby. Dean doesn't want me," she attempted to resist, squirming in his arms.

"Dean's a frigin' idjit. He's just pissed cuz Sam's in a fix. He don't mean anything he says right now, you understand?"

"Bobby, don't take me back," she whined pitifully.

He didn't respond, only kept moving forward, one foot in front of the other, bringing her closer and closer to Dean's rage. She resigned herself to her fate, too weak to walk herself.

"How are your wings?" he asked gently.

"Fine," she grumbled.

Bobby carefully kissed the top of her head as he walked. "I just need you safe, kid. You gotta understand that."

She sniffed, "Yeah, Bobby. I know."

The walked in silence for what felt like forever, and Emily found herself slowly passing out. In a moment, she was standing to the side of Bobby, watching him carry her toward the house. It stuck her that this same thing happened back in Grants Pass, Oregon, after she had the fight with Dean about not being able to defend herself.

She followed Bobby and her body back up to the house. After Bobby had managed to get the door open, she stopped in her tracks. Dean had been pacing the study, and he immediately stopped, his head shooting up, when the door opened. She came back to her senses just in time to make it inside the house before Bobby shut the door.

"What the hell happened?" Dean's voice was thick with emotion as he stared down at her limp body in Bobby's arms.

The older man ignored him, instead moving to gently lay her body down on the couch. _This is so weird_, she thought, watching Bobby straighten his back as he stood up. Still refusing to look at Dean, he turned on his heel, walking out the garage door. Dean gave a quick glance at her body before following Bobby, Emily on his heels.

"Bobby!" Dean called, slamming the garage door behind them. "Talk to me!"

Bobby immediately slammed him up against the wall, his eyes raging. "You want me to talk? Fine," he growled. "That kid's the closest thing I've got to family. She's practically my daughter. And you've got the nerve to treat her like that?"

"Bobby–" Dean's voice sounded broken, but Bobby wouldn't let him finish.

"She could be dying right now!"

His words hung in the air as Dean looked at him in shock, unable to comprehend the enormity of the situation. "You have no idea," Bobby hissed, finally letting him go. "You get in there, and you fix this…or so help me God…"

Dean turned away, running back inside as fast as he dared, halting in the doorway when he saw your body. It struck him then, what he had done. Sure, you've always been really attached to them, but Dean always thought you were strong enough to handle whatever got thrown at you, no matter what he's said in the past. But the fact that you weren't human…that didn't make you stronger. It could just as well make you so incredibly vulnerable. And he screwed up.

He really screwed up.


	56. Chapter 56

As Dean stared at her body laying limp on the couch, an icy fear seized his heart. He dropped to his knees, reaching out a hand to smooth down her hair, but stopped. She was laid out on the couch, one arm draped off the side. Her hair flared out across the pillow, a few strands falling in her face.

Dean froze, his hand held up in midair as he just stared at her. His life was falling apart before his eyes, and it was all his fault. He didn't stop Castiel when he had the chance; he could've saved Sam. But this…this was all him, too. He drove her to this, and, for as long as he lived, he would never be able to forgive himself for the state she was in now.

His hand dropped to his side. "Emily." The paused, debating whether or not to say what was in his heart.

Emily dropped to the ground beside him, hesitantly wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He didn't recognize that she was there. But somehow, miraculously, he began to speak.

"I'm sorry. Everything is falling apart around me, and it's all my fault. I'm sorry, princess. I'm so sorry. I screwed up real bad," he choked out, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"You didn't, Dean," she muttered, holding him closer.

"I was so scared for Sammy, and…and the fact that you never told me that–" he broke off, clearing his throat. "You never told me that you weren't human because you thought…_you thought I'd kill you_."

He let out a shuddering sigh. "I just never knew you thought like that. Those last three months we had together, you were living in fear…of _me_. I need you to know that I would never, _never_, try to hurt you, princess. If anything happens to you…"

She was silently crying now, leaning on his shoulder. He hesitantly took her limp body's hand in his, rubbing small circles over her skin. She could feel everything he was doing on her body.

There was a sudden rustling of feathers as Balthazar was suddenly standing in the room, his horrified gaze absorbing the situation before him. "What did you do?" His voice was dangerously low.

Dean's head shot up, trying to comprehend his question. "What?"

Balthazar's petrifying gaze focused on Dean. "You insignificant, stupid bastard. What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" Dean rose to his feet in a protective stance over Emily's body.

Balthazar's sword dropped into his hand, and he began to advance on Dean. "I swear to my Father, if something–"

"Balthazar, stop!" Emily screamed, jumping in front of him, pushing her hands against his shoulders. He froze, confusion and shock crossing his face, holding his blade still in midair. Dean had backed up behind Bobby's desk, hastily attempting to find a spare angel blade.

"Emily?" the angel breathed, as if afraid of an answer.

"I'm here. Please, don't hurt him," she pleaded, laying her head on his chest.

"Em? Love? Are you here?" He hadn't heard her.

"Balthazar. Yes, I'm right here," she cried, louder than before. But he was still looking around the room, straining his ears for any sign of her.

"She's right there, man," Dean muttered, weary of the crazed look in the angel's eyes.

"Shut up!" he roared, slamming him against the wall and holding him there with his grace. "Emily?!"

"I'M HERE!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.

Balthazar's eyes shot to where her face would be. "You're right here. Oh, Dad, she's right here," he breathed, dropping the angel blade to the floor with a clatter. "Are you stuck? With a – how do you say…out of body experience?"

"YES!" she screamed. "Yes, Balth…"

"I-I can do that," he said, almost excitedly. "I can help. Uh…" he faltered for a moment, closing his eyes as he tried to remember. Within moments, Enochian words came spilling out of his mouth, laced with an unbelievable power.

She could feel a slight tug, pulling herself toward her body. Suddenly, it was like a rubber band had snapped her back, and her eyes shot open. She sputtered for breath, rolling off the couch and landing on her hands and knees on the floor.

Balthazar was on his knees by her side in an instant, running a hand over her hair. "Dean," she gasped. "Let 'im go."

She could hear Dean collapse on the floor behind her, as Balthazar's hand hovered over her back. She grunted in pain as Balthazar flattened his palm against Emily's raw back. He took away the pain fairly quickly, pulling together the open wounds and healing the bruising that completely covered her back, her tattered shirt barely hanging on to her shoulder.

As she caught her breath, she looked up at the angel with a fire in her eyes that took him by surprise. "You…_never_ lay a hand on him," she hissed, making sure her comment registered in his mind. When he nodded, she shakily rose to her feet, turning to Dean, tears in her eyes.

"It's not your fault," she muttered.

Dean was behind the desk, fallen books surrounding his feet. "What?" he barely dared to breathe.

"It's not your fault, Dean. None of this is. And I'm so…so sorry that I thought you'd ever hurt me. You didn't screw up, Dean. Never." Dean was in front of her now, barely keeping the urge to hug her in check.

"But I did, princess. I hurt you. I can't forgive myself for that," he choked out, trying to maintain control.

"I'm fine, Dean. It's not your fault. There's nothing to forgive." She hesitantly reached out for him, and Dean let her hold him, as clung to her in fear that he would somehow lose her.

_It's always going to be him, isn't it_, Balthazar's voice filled her head. Confusion clouded her mind. _You're always going to choose Dean over me_.

_It's not like that, Balthazar,_ she thought, hiding her face in Dean's shirt.

_It's not your fault. I understand. I just…I just need to know._ Contrary to his words, he sounded upset.

_No, Balth, you're like a father to me. You're family just as much as he is!_

There was a short silence. _But when it comes down to it, you're going to choose him over me every time._

_Balthazar, that's not fair. _

_It's okay, Emily. I understand why you feel this way. I simply needed to be sure._

She began to cry at his words, and Dean pulled her closer to his chest. _I know I shouldn't feel this way. You've been there so many more times for me than he has._

_Emily–_

_What's wrong with me?!_

A deep thunderclap suddenly shook the house, and Emily jumped. A rush of memories flooded back…Gabriel on the Moon – she had completely forgotten!

"Dean," she pulled away from him, hastily whipping the tears from her face, "Gabriel said that there was something you had that I need. Maybe something he gave you."

Dean cleared his throat, quickly composing himself. "Y-yeah," he nodded. "I'm sorry, I totally forgot. Be right back." He ran a hand through his hair as he left her side to ascend the stairs.

_When did you speak to Gabriel?_ Balthazar's voice was curious and slightly concerned in her head.

She sighed. _It's complicated._


	57. Chapter 57

As Dean hunted for what Gabriel had given him upstairs, Emily took advantage of the moment alone with Balthazar to ask him, "Can you help Sammy?"

He hesitated. "Sam's situation is…complicated. What Cas did…it's up to Sam to drag himself out of it. There's no way I can help him." Her stomach lurched, but Balthazar quickly continued, "He'll be fine, Emily, I promise. Your brother is very strong. He–"

Balthazar broke off as Dean thumped back down the stairs, Sam's laptop in one hand and a DVD in the other. He tossed her the disk while he unlocked the laptop.

**_Casa Erotica_** was printed on the cover across a pair of black stilettoes. She smiled sadly, gently running a finger over the cover. Gabriel's sweet tooth had always applied to more than just sugar; you could find Gabriel participating in anything that was _good_, in every sense of the word.

"There's two DVD's," Dean said, pushing the laptop toward her. The second one has a sticky note with your name on it. We, uh…we tried watching it, but it wouldn't play."

Emily sat down on the couch next to Balthazar, laptop in her lap. The second disk in the case did have a small yellow sticky note, covering the title. _Emily_ was scrawled across the paper in Gabriel's smooth handwriting.

As she peeled it off, her heart caught in her throat . **_Friends_**. She had watched every episode of the TV show with Gabriel over a period of a month, and she had often compared him to Chandler Bing. The show was the basis for many of their jokes, especially the ones directed toward Balthazar.

But the show meant so much more than that. They started watching it together the third week she was with them. Gabriel had recognized that she was no closer to trusting them than the first night they had "officially" met, and he decided to do something about it. One night, he invited her to sit on the couch with him, the pilot of _Friends_ paused on the television. She accepted only out of fear, and sat on the opposite side of the couch, as far from him as possible. After a few episodes, Gabriel had begun to crack jokes at the characters' expense, and she often found herself smiling.

As the seasons progressed, she began to move closer to him on the couch, until, finally, by the season six finale, their knees touched. Gabriel's head snapped up to stare at her. She was completely focused on the screen, hands fidgeting in her lap as she watched the plot unfold. He watched a joyful tear slip down her check as Chandler fell to his knees, holding Monica in his arms. A gentle smile graced his lips, not because of the scene playing out on television, but from the trust Emily had begun to find in him.

By the season ten, she was leaning on him during the show, begging him to play the next episode. It was three thirty in the morning when they watched the last season finale, and she was crying in his arms, watching the door to the apartment close for the last time. They stayed together like that for a long time, Gabriel barely daring to move and risk breaking the moment. "There isn't another one is there?" she asked quietly, looking up at the dark screen.

"No," he muttered.

She sighed. "It was a good ending. If it had to end…I'm glad it was like that."

Gabriel chuckled quietly. "Yeah. It fit."

They were much closer then, and she found it far easier to talk to him and go to him when something was bothering her. After a couple years, she couldn't imagine her life without him.

"Emily?" Dean's voice snapped her back to reality, and she hastily wiped a stray tear from her face.

"I'm good," she cleared her throat, popping the disk into the laptop.

The theme song burst from the laptop as the screen filled with familiar faces. The scene opened in Monica's apartment, and the clock showed that it was three thirty in the morning. Every flat surface in the apartment was covered in candles, and the camera finally panned over to the couch, where Gabriel was sitting, hunched over, hands folded in his lap.

"Hey, kid."

She bit her lip to stop the tears, her eyes raking over the pixels of Gabriel's face. It was so comforting to actually hear his voice again.

"So, uh…" his voice broke, and he quickly cleared his throat. "So I'm sure that by now you've heard that…that I'm dead. Now, sweetheart, please, do not get excited, because I still can't see you, but I'm not dead. I'm not quite alive, either though. It's–"

He sighed, trying to find the right words. "Lucifer's stab wound wasn't mortal, and I was able to hang on. I used the last of my juice to burn the angel wings into the floor so he'd think I was dead, and, well, to finalize this DVD. I'm healing, but slowly, so I might now be able to see you for a while.

"Emily, there are thinks you have the right to know that Balthazar will never tell you. Not only do you have the birthright to this knowledge, but it will answer _so_ many questions you have." He chuckled lightly before saying, "Balthazar's probably freaking out right now, isn't he?"

Her head jerked up to look at the angel, who was standing in the corner, jaw clenched, listening to every word. "Turn it off," he muttered.

"Balthy, just think about it," Gabriel was saying onscreen. "You don't have to hide anymore!

"Turn it off!"

"You won't be breaking your vow, but she still gets to know. It's a win-win! You're still faithful to Lila."

Balthazar froze at the woman's name, conflicting emotions crossing his face. "I got him, didn't I?" Gabriel winked at Emily, and she had to hastily wipe a tear from her cheek before Dean could see.

"And, Em? Don't worry. I added a little extra mojo to make sure that this DVD only plays when you're in a five foot radius, so your two giant shadows couldn't watch it without out you."

"Shadows?" Dean muttered.

She quickly shushed him, focusing on Gabriel. "It was 1976 when Balthazar first met Lila Adams. It was her first time in New York city, and our dear Balthy had just popped in for some champagne and sex, as he does. Anyway, he met her at the top of the empire state building, feeding her one of those cheesy pick-up lines he uses. Long story short, they fell in love. I've never seen someone so incredibly…_in love_.

"He courted her for two years before...well, Lila had been betrothed since birth. Balthazar was her way of rebelling, believing that there was a possibility she could marry for love, even if it was only for a little while. It didn't matter how much he groveled and begged her; she ultimately chose her duty to her family over Balthazar. But he still watched over her, even though he couldn't contact her. In 1979, Julia Adams was born. And on April 14, 1981, Emily Adams was born.

"The family moved to the small town of Lawrence, Kansas, where they bought a small, suburban house. The scumbag husband ran off with his secretary before your first birthday, and Lila was left to be a single mom juggling two kids. One day, their neighbor approached Lila, asking for her services. I'll explain that in a minute.

"After Lila had agreed, she immediately called Balthazar, who met her on the front porch. She made him swear to watch over you and Julia, and to protect a secret that, traditionally, the family would explain to the child when they came of age. Your mother had anticipated that she would be there to guide you through it, help you become an adult. She didn't–"

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Em, you're what's called a guardian angel."


	58. Chapter 58

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Em, you're what's called a guardian angel, or guardian for short. Sometimes, entire guardian families pledge themselves to one house, serving them through the generations. But normally, the parents of a young guardian would make a deal with a wealthy family, where the family would take care of the child, and, in turn, the child would bond with a member of the rich family, usually a child. When a guardian bonds with a charge, or the person they…take care of, they will do anything for their charge, including giving their life. The lucky guardians go to good homes where they bond will well-mannered kids and have a relatively normal life.

"Many guardian families today have reverted back to the time when their species hadn't yet been discovered by humans, reclaiming their independence and living without charges. Lila's husband was wealthy enough to allow them – you – that luxury. However…when he left, Lila's finances were…frankly, not good. Mary Winchester approached her one day with a proposition.

"Now, Mary was a damn good hunter in her time, and she was cunning when it came to protecting her family. Boys, I've nothing against you mother, okay? She was badass. Anyway, Mary would help Lila through her hard time and put you and Julia through college. Lila's end of the deal was to let you and Julia naturally bond with her two boys. Ideally, Julia would bond with Dean and you would bond with Sam. John wouldn't know, and the whole transaction would be a secret. Your mother agreed, and you began to have playdates with the boys next door.

"When Sammy turned six months old, the demon came. I-I don't know how the hell he found out, but he knew about you and your family. Balthazar can explain the details and history if you want, but basically the fact that you're a guardian is not something you want to let people know. It was illegal – well, not _illegal_, per se, just…incredibly frowned upon – basically it isn't socially acceptable for a guardian and an angel to get together. When Lila married, her husband knew about her love for Balthazar, so he put up angel warding in the walls preventing her from praying to Balthazar and preventing him from finding her. That's why it took so long for Balthazar to get there that night.

"You and Julia had separate rooms, and Azazel chose Julia's first. When Lila figured out what was going on, she broke a window, effectively breaking the warding, and she prayed to Balthazar. By the time he got there, Lila and Julia were both dead, and the demon was advancing on you. It fled when it saw Balthazar, and moved next door. The original plan was to hit you three first before moving to the Winchester's house. Azazel still continued with that plan, he was just a little rushed.

"Balthazar was aware of Lila's deal with Mary, and she had made him promise to uphold it. When Balthazar saw the flames next door, he carried you to the Winchester's door, ensuring that you were there when Dean came downstairs with Sam in his arms.

"Em, you need to understand that Balthazar wanted nothing more than to take you away and give you a good life, free from monsters, and hunting, and all that crap you had to deal with. But by then, you had already bonded to Sam, and it's extremely dangerous to separate a bonded guardian and its charge for long periods of time. Balthazar can explain this to you as well.

"You bonded with Dean a few months later, and, well…" he shrugged, offering a tight smile. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, and Balthazar's there to tell you everything he can, okay? The original oath Balthazar made to Lila was not to tell you anything about who you are before you found out yourself. Consider this finding out yourself; you know, so now Balthazar can explain."

He paused, starting into the camera. "Em…I-I made a deal with Dad. I'm going to be recuperating for a while, getting back a lot of the grace I lost. The, um…the catch is that I can't see you until I'm back at full power, and, let's face it," he gave a dry chuckle, "who the hell knows when that's gonna be."

Gabriel looked down, seemingly at a loss for words. "I'll, um…hopefully, I'll see you soon, okay sweetheart? I…I love you." He stared at the camera for a moment, before the faintest sad smile pulled at his lips.

The screen when black, the replay button appeared in the center of the window. She couldn't move for a long time, simply staring at the laptop. When she finally looked up, everyone was staring at her, attempting to gauge how she would react. Her eyes, however, only met Bobby's.

The older man had come in from the garage while the video was playing, and he stood in the doorway, watching Emily. She hesitated. "Did you know?"

He dropped his gaze to the floor, deciding how to answer. "Yeah…yeah, I knew. John told me after he found out."

She nodded, dropping her gaze back to the screen. She swallowed, before looking up at Balthazar. "I'm sorry it didn't work out between you and my mom. I…I think I would've really liked growing up with you as my dad." She quickly dropped the subject when she saw the pain in his eyes. She met Dean's gaze for a moment; he was in the same state of mind that she was. They were both just so overwhelmed, trying to absorb all this new information.

"I-I can explain, if you want," Balthazar offered, moving to sit next to her on the couch.

She quickly nodded, "Uh…what did Gabriel mean, that comment about how I shouldn't let anyone know what I am?"

A slight frown creased his features, before he said, "Guardians are…very powerful. Your wings emerge at age sixteen, and your full powers develop somewhere between the ages of twenty and thirty. Every guardian goes through this, whether you're bonded or not. When a guardian is…fully grown – at maximum strength – they are…_incredibly_ powerful. They have most of the powers that angels have, and it's been said that, in a limited time after death, they can resurrect people, especially if that person is their charge."

"How, um…how do I know when I'm at full power?" Emily asked hesitantly.

"Oh, you'll know. It's not something that you can easily miss. You'll feel much more powerful, and it's usually triggered by an event…a-a life-or-death experience, if you will."

Emily frowned slightly. "And-and why is it dangerous to separate a…a guardian from its charge?"

"A guardian, by nature, is designed to protect something or someone." Balthazar explained. "When a guardian forms a bond, their soul becomes tied to the thing they are protecting, in this case, your brothers. If you separate a guardian from its charge, a piece of their soul will feel as though it's missing. The guardian will do whatever it is capable of to reunite itself with its charge. Most of the time, this is a conscious effort, but, if the guardian and its charge are separated for an extremely extensive period of time, say years or if the charge dies, the effort can become unconscious, in an attempt to conserve the guardian's sanity. A lot of times the guardian would have…extensive mental scars that might not ever heal, even if they are reunited with their charge."

"That doesn't make sense," she protested. "I…I was separated from Sam and Dean for ten years, and I think I'm handling it pretty well."

"You had Gabriel, and he–" Balthazar seemed angry for a moment, before he quickly shut it mouth. "Do you have other questions?"

"Yeah, what did Gabriel do?" she asked, staring at him.

He seemed incredibly uncomfortable. "I shouldn't–"

"Screw shouldn't, Balthazar. What the hell did he do?" she pushed.

The angel didn't answer. "Balthazar!"

"He kept you separated!" Balthazar had jumped up from the couch, posture ridged. He started out the window, regretting his words. "We both did."

"What do you mean, Balth?" her voice was quiet as she looked up at him.

"We kept you away from them…Sam and Dean." He wouldn't meet her eyes. "It was my idea."


	59. Chapter 59

"We kept you away from them…Sam and Dean." He wouldn't meet her eyes. "It was my idea. You had discovered that John was dead, and you were hell-bent on finding your brothers. Gabriel disagreed at first, as I expected. You'd already been through the horrors that came with hunting, as well as everything else John Winchester put you through. I thought that it was enough…I didn't want to see you get hurt. I came to an understanding with Gabriel, and we kept you away from where they hunted."

He looked up, finally meeting her eyes. She felt so completely betrayed. "You need to understand, we didn't want you to get hurt. It's dangerous to be around them," he gestured at the brothers. "I just…" he dropped his gaze once more, staring out the window as his voice grew softer, "I didn't realize until it was too late how much damage it was causing you. When Gabriel told me about his confrontation with you in Paris last year, I…I didn't know if I'd ever be able to forgive myself for what I've done to you. I thought I was doing the right thing, protecting you. I thought, with Gabriel's power, we could take care of you, and you could finally be _normal_. No matter how many times I apologize to you, Emily, it will never be enough. I don't expect you to forgive me."

She couldn't look at him. His betrayal clouded her mind, and she wasn't able to keep her thoughts in order. With a heavy exhale, she forced her thoughts away and stood up. "We have less than twenty-four hours to prevent Castiel from cracking open purgatory. We need an address," she told Balthazar.

Shocked by the immediate change of subject, the angel hesitated, not knowing how to respond.

"We need to stop Castiel, even if Sam isn't in the game," she said. Bobby shifted feet, eyeing her carefully.

_Emily–_

_I love you as my father, Balthazar, and nothing you have done or ever will do can change that. I just…I just need some time. Please, we need the address so Dean can save his friend. Sammy…Sam's safe here._

Balthazar stared at her for a moment, before giving her the smallest of nods. Before he was able to leave, Emily spoke up, "Wait." He froze, eyes glued to hers. "What Gabriel said…is it possible?"

"Yes, it's not only possible, but very true."

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips, unreadable to anyone but those who knew her best. "Okay." The angel lingered for a moment more before disappearing with the faint sound of rustling feathers.

"What happened in Paris?" Bobby's voice was soft, his eyes almost pleading.

She hesitated. Lying to him as she had done so many times before about her mental state would just add to the internalization of all the emotions she's had to deal with over the years. She was done. It was just too tiresome. "I tried to kill myself," she said, avoiding his eyes.

Before he was able to comprehend what she had said, Emily began walking toward the garage. "I need to take a drive. Be back in a bit," she told them, glancing back at Dean. He was still sitting on the floor by the couch, staring at her, his eyes swimming in pity. That was the last thing she needed right now.

She shut the door behind her, grabbing a box of Bobby's tools before heading to her truck. Quickly dropping the toolbox in the truck-bed, she urged the engine to life before her brother and his uncle regained enough wits to follow her.

She swung out of the driveway, sending a cloud of dust into the air behind her. She could see Dean in the rearview, a silhouette against the mess she had made. A shadow…always a shadow, just as Gabriel said.

She was jerked from her thoughts as her cellphone rang from the passenger seat where she had thrown it. A sidelong glance revealed that it was Dean, and she ignored the call. The road continued for a few miles before the truck turned left onto a barely visible dirt path. It twisted though the trees for another two miles before revealing an old building with two large garage doors. Each door had a large, faded red number painted on the front; the building vaguely resembled a firehouse. In the residential section of the building, a large chunk of the roof had been blown off, and it was clear that not one had tried to repair it.

Emily jumped from the truck, manually opening the door marked with a "2." There, in all its glory, sat a '70 Dodge Challenger, a metal goddess. She was a deep purple, and shone brighter than polished silver when the light struck her hood.

When the second garage door opened, the metal seemed to glow, pulling Emily's attention to it. She gently ran a hand over the car, smiling at the feel of the cool metal beneath her skin. Deciding that it was time to do what she had come here for, Emily grabbed Bobby's toolbox from the truck bed, setting it beside the car.

When Dean pulled into the driveway only fifteen minutes later, Kansas was blaring through the speakers of the old radio in the back of the large garage, and Emily was bent over the engine, Sam's sweatshirt in a neat pile on the floor. She hadn't heard the impala pull up, nor did she hear Dean calling for her. When he shut off the radio, she cursed, slamming her head against the hood.

"Emily," Dean called again.

She carefully shut the hood, sticking the wrench she was using in the back pocket of her jeans. Her voice was quiet and controlled as she asked, "How did you find me?"

"Bobby told me. Look, Em–"

"She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Caught off guard, Dean hesitated. "The car?"

She gave him a small smile, gazing at the machine. "Yeah, the car."

As if seeing the car for the first time, Dean's eyes roamed over the bodywork before making his way to the front. Popping the hood, he let out a low whistle as he took in the engine. "Wow, Em…where'd you get her?"

"Built her from the ground up," she said in the same quiet tone.

"You're kidding." Dean looked over at her, a proud smile playing across his face. Emily just nodded, absentmindedly stroking the metal. "How does she ride?"

"Dunno," she answered honestly. "Never drove her."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Why not?"

"Dunno," she repeated, shrugging.

There was a pregnant pause before Dean asked, "What is this place?"

"It was supposed to be a fire station," she told him, moving to put her tools back in Bobby's bag.

"Way out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"Exactly. Some moron wanted to put it here, but it was too far away. He built it anyway. It never got used, so Bobby bought it from the town with the money I wired into his account. Gabe and Balth helped me clean up the place, and, well…" she trailed off, not knowing how to end.

"What happened to the roof?" Dean asked.

Emily cleared her throat, grabbing Bobby's tool bag. "My fault," she said, tossing the bag in the truck bed.

"What did you do?" he seemed genuinely curious, following her outside, where his Impala was parked next to the old truck.

"I, uh…I had a small panic attack." She wouldn't meet his eyes, moving back to the engine bay to shut the doors.

"Panic attack?" Dean followed her.

"The thing you saw in Bobby's panic room. It happens sometimes. I'm sure Balthazar can explain now." The garage door marked "2" shut with a slam, and she turned back to Dean. "Look, Bobby sent you out here, so he probably wants me back, right?"

Dean was again caught off guard by the change in subject. "Uh, yeah…yeah. Balthazar got us an address. Bobby wants to see you."

"Okay," she said, jumping into her truck. "Meet you there."

"Emily!" Dean stopped her, one hand on the door. "Are you okay?"

His eyes were full of concern as he stared up at her. She easily lied, "I'm fine."


	60. Chapter 60

Bobby was pacing the floor when she walked in, Dean on her tail. He immediately made his way over to her, concern evident in his eyes. "What the hell were you thinking, running off like that?" he hissed. "You drop a bomb like that and you _leave_?"

"What was I supposed to do with you overprotective, overgrown–" she trailed off, taking a breath. "Nevermind. Where's Balthazar?"'

"He took off. There's a letter on the table. Em–" Bobby growled.

"What about Sam?" she cut him off.

"No change," Dean said from behind her. "Can I talk to you upstairs?"

She hesitated. "Sure." She glanced over at a distraught Bobby before following Dean upstairs to the bedroom. "What's going on?"

"Emily, I…we can't bring you with us tonight," he said carefully.

"What – Dean, what the hell?"

"It's just that you froze in Oregon, and I don't know how rusty your skills really are," he admitted. "And I can't tell where your head is at right now. You could snap, and I…"

"You're safer with me there. You heard Balthazar!"

"I did hear Balthazar. Look, I just need you here tonight. I'll fight better knowing you're safe. Please, just promise me that you'll stay here."

"I can't do that, Dean," she immediately responded.

He hung his head, muttering, "That's what I thought."

Before she knew what was going on, he had the cold metal of a handcuff pressed against her wrist, the other end attached to the bedpost. "Dean! What the hell?!"

"I need you safe," he said, the guilt already clear in his eyes.

"Dean, don't do this," she pleaded as he walked out the door. "Dean!"

She called out for him until she heard the Impala roar to life before it faded into the night as they drove away without her. "Damnit," she sobbed, slamming her head against the wall. There was no way to know if they'd be okay. No way to know how powerful Castiel really was.

She sighed, laying down on the bed, her arm stretched uncomfortable above her, for what felt like hours, just waiting until Dean got back, hopefully safe and sound. All of a sudden, a strange sensation began building in her chest. She raised her head, scrutinizing the area as she thought, _Huh…maybe I'm having a heart attack_.

In an instant, the pain became unbearable, and she screamed, her back arching off the bed. It felt like something was inside of her, ripping through her chest, trying to escape. As the pain began to fade, a wisp of bright, sky-blue light floated from her chest, hovering over her skin. She knew in an instant.

Balthazar was gone.

The small part of his grace that had bonded to her soul slowly faded, the light dimming until it seemed as though it had never been there. _Balthazar,_ Emily called out, praying that she would get a response, already knowing in her heart that there would be only silence. _BALTHAZAR!_

Sobs racked her body as continued calling out for him, guilt consuming her. The last thing they had done was fight.

The bedroom door suddenly swung open, and Sam was at her side in an instant. "What's wrong?" His voice was hoarse.

"Sam. You're okay," she mumbled, choking back her tears and gently smoothing a hand over his hair. "You're okay."

"I'm okay. What's wrong?" he demanded.

"S-something's wrong with Balthazar, I don't–" she took a breath, desperately trying to control herself. "Look, Dean and Bobby went to find Castiel. They said they had an address–"

"Yeah, I got it," he cut her off, holding up a scrap of paper. "Why are you handcuffed to the bed?"

"Dean. He didn't want me to go, and he has the keys. Can you get me out?"

He regarded her for a moment, before making up his mind. "Pull against the cuffs, and get as far away as possible."

She immediately obeyed, standing to pull against the metal, the chain taught. Sam stood between her and the bedpost, shielding her as he raised the gun. "Don't move." She flinched at the heat and the sound of the gunshot, but her arm was free.

"Thanks. Let's go," she said, moving to the door.

As Sam turned to follow, he collapsed in pain, both hands clutching at his head in desperation. "Sam?" she called out, dropping to her knees beside him. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

"I'm fine – _I'm fine_," he growled, as if to assure himself. His hands fell from his head as the pain apparently subsided, and one arm fell across her shoulders. "We need to find Dean."

"Can you fight?" she asked, vowing to take care of him after he and his brother were both safe.

"Yes. Let's go." He shakily stood, using Emily's shoulder for support until he could stand on his own. "Balthazar's gonna be fine."

His words caught her by surprise, and she froze, starting up at him, the lump forming in her throat again. "Let's go," he urged, pulling her to the door.

She drove her truck while Sam sat in the passenger seat, giving her directions as she sped down the highways. It wasn't long before Emily caught the glint of black metal in her headlights, and she pulled the truck to the side of the road. Sam jumped out of the truck, running over to the wreckage, Emily on his heels.

Suddenly, a bright light illuminated the ridge where they were standing, and Sam pulled her down behind the coverage of the Impala, pulling her close to his chest. She could feel his heartbeat through his shirt, and she gently laid a hand on his chest, over his heart. He tensed, looking down at her.

"Are you really okay?" she asked, seeing the pain in his eyes and the way he flinched every now and then, even though he tried to hide it from her.

He stared into her eyes for a moment, deciding how to respond. "I'll be fine."

The light faded, and Sam was pulling her up until she stood next to him. They had only climbed halfway down the hill, however, when a fierce howling surrounded the building, and black smoke erupted from every window, accompanied by the sound of shattering glass.

Sam pulled her into the dirt once more, laying above her and shielding her from the demons overhead. Once they were far enough away and the roar had faded significantly, Sam pulled her to her feet again, and they proceeded to the front door.


	61. Chapter 61

There wasn't a guard in the entire building, although bodies lay scattered around them, shadows of wings seared into the concrete. She followed Sam as he moved deeper into the building, her anxiety building as she realized they only had one gun, which didn't even work against angels. What if it came to the point where they were forced to kill Dean's friend?

She almost bumped into Sam as he stopped abruptly, motioning for her to listen. As she strained her ears, she could here muffled voices from the basement. One of them was Dean's.

She crept to the door, peeking down at the scene below her. Dean was attempting to sweet talk Castel in order to save his life, while Bobby stood by, watching the scene unfold.

"You doubted me, fought against me," Castiel was saying.

When she saw him begin to turn around, she quickly retreated, bumping into Sam, who instinctively held her close. She gestured down the hall, and Sam followed her, stopping when they came to a secondary staircase.

"Dean and Bobby are confronting Castiel. It doesn't look good," she whispered to him. "This should be a second way in, and we can get the angel before he hurts them."

Sam nodded, silently creeping down the stairs, Emily close on his tail. As they rounded a corner, she could hear Dean talking to his angel.

"You don't need this kind of juice anymore, Cas," he was saying. "Get rid of it before it kills us all!"

_Castiel had already absorbed all the souls from Purgatory_. By the look on his face, Sam had come to the same conclusion. She gestured to a discarded angel blade on the ground. It was behind Castiel and covered in blood spatter, assumingly from the angel it had belonged to.

"You're just saying that because I won," Castiel argued quietly, "because you're afraid."

Before Emily could stop him, Sam had moved to grab the blade and slink behind Castiel. He was oddly ninja-like for such a tall, moose-like man.

"You're not my family, Dean," Castiel advanced on him. Emily's throat constricted as she watched the scene unfold, realizing that there was nothing she could do. "I have not family."

Sam drove the angel blade through Castiel's back, piercing his heart. Dean's eyes widened in shock as he stared at his brother, who had just murdered his best friend.

To everyone's astonishment, Castiel simply pulled the blade from his own back, carefully laying it on one of the metal tables. "I'm glad you made it, Sam," he said gently. "But, the angel blade won't work because I'm not an angel anymore," he explained, turning to face the younger Winchester. "Emily, why don't you come out as well?"

She cursed, flattening herself against the wall. "There will be no other opportunity to attempt to overcome my power. You have no weapons that are effective against me." She closed her eyes, weighing her options. She didn't have any. "You're trying my patience."

She took a breath, stepping out from behind the wall into Castiel's view. "There you are," he gave the smallest hint of a sadistic smile. "The little guardian."

Emily carefully moved to stand by Sam, who protectively pulled her close. She tried desperately to ignore Dean's accusing eyes on her as she stared up at Castiel.

"As I was telling them, I no longer an angel. I'm your new god. A better one. So you will bow down, and profess your love unto me, your lord…" he stared at them all in turn with his piercing gaze, "or I shall destroy you."

Sam's arm tightened around her in fear as they all looked up at him, terror written plainly across their faces. "Well," Bobby began hesitantly, "alright then." He slowly got to his knees, looking up at Castiel. "Is this good, or do you want the whole forehead to the carpet thing."

She had to give credit to Bobby where it was due; he defiantly knew how to survive. The brothers stared at each other for a moment, unsure of what to do. "Guys?" Bobby asked hesitantly, urging them to join him on the floor in order to save their own lives.

As Sam and Dean began to lower themselves to the ground, she furrowed her eyebrows, unwilling to prostrate herself to the former angel. There was a small fire in her chest, the fuel to fight knowing that her brothers were in trouble. Thankfully, Castiel didn't notice as he called out, "Stop."

"What's the point if you don't mean it," he continued. "You fear me. Not love, not respect, just fear."

"Cas," Sam began, taking a step forward.

"Sam, you have nothing to say to me. You stabbed me in the back," Castiel accused, turning to look at him.

As the former angel's gaze sharpened, Emily moved to stand in front of Sam, making it clear that Castiel would need to go through her first.

Castiel, however, ignored her, telling Bobby, "Get up."

Her uncle's eyes widened, glancing at Dean before slowly rising to his feet. "Cas, come on, this is not you," Dean said gently, pleading with his best friend.

"The Castiel you knew is gone," Castiel said abruptly.

"So what then? Kill us?" Dean's eyebrows rose in question.

"What a brave little ant you are," he smiled. Dean pulled back, looking thoroughly insulted. "You know you're powerless, you wouldn't dare move against me again – that would be pointless. So I have no need to kill you. Not now. Besides, once you were my favorite pets…before you turned and bit me."

"Who are you?" Dean asked, all traces of trust or hope gone.

"I'm god. And if you stay in your place, you may live in my kingdom. If you rise up," he warned, "I will strike you down. Not doing so well, are you Sam?"

Emily's head shot up to look at her brother, concern for him flaring in her chest. "I'm fine," he cleared his throat, tightening his grip on her for reassurance before looking over at Dean. "I'm fine."

"You said you would fix him," Dean growled. "You promised."

"_If_ you stood down, which you hardly did. Be thankful for my mercy. I could've cast you back in the pit."

She could feel Sam tense in fear. She snarled, her chest rising in anger as her wings ripped from her back, protectively shielding Sam. Castiel regarded her cautiously, a careful amusement on his face as he took in the bandages and broken feathers.

"Come on, Cas, this is nuts," Dean called his attention back, attempting to defuse the fight before it began. "You could turn this around, please!"

"I hope for your sake this is the last time you see me."

Emily could sense that he was about to leave, and she shouted, "Wait!"

Castiel's head slowly turned to meet her eyes, daring her to continue. "What did you do to Balthazar?"

The question hung in the air, tension building in the room and creating a new anxiety in her chest. She thought she knew the answer to her question – she knew in her heart – but she had to be sure. Staring down at her, Castiel finally replied, "Balthazar betrayed me. I had no choice but to punish him for his actions."

Her face contorted into a snarl, and her hands were clenched at her sides. "What did you do?" Her voice was dangerously quiet.

"I killed him."

Emily lunged at him, fully intending to murder him if it was in her power. Castiel vanished, and she slammed into the concrete, her head smacking against the metal leg of a table. She spun around, crouching on the floor, her eyes desperately searching the room for him. He was standing three feet away, a sadistic smirk playing across his lips. She jumped at him again, only ram her shoulder into the unforgiving floor. She was faster the third time, with just enough speed for her nails to meet his face, gouging claw marks into his cheek.

Before she knew what was going on, Dean was pulling her into her arms, shielding her from Castiel's rage. She stared up at the former angel, watching the fire him his eyes. Although she could feel the blood under her nails from his face, there wasn't a mark on him. He must have new powers with the souls, maybe the ability to heal himself even more quickly. And that pissed her off.

She struggled against Dean, desperately wanting to get her hands around Castiel's neck, even though the dangerous fire in his eyes was still raging and he could kill her with just a snap of his fingers.

"Cas, please," Dean sounded broken. "Don't hurt her. Just go."

Castiel regarded him carefully for a moment, his rage slowly dwindling. "As I said," he told them carefully, turning his stony gaze back to Emily, "I hope for your sake...this is the last time you see me."


	62. Chapter 62

Castiel disappeared, but she still wanted to fight, desperately pushing against Dean's hold on her to no avail. They could still feel the waves of power rolling off of her as she desperately craved the former angel's blood.

"Come on, kid," he muttered, only holding her tighter until she finally cracked, going completely limp.

Dean sank to the floor with her, cradling her in his arms as she sobbed uncontrollably into his shirt. She could feel the tug of her soul trying to leave her body, distancing herself from the pain, but she resisted, holding on to Dean for dear life. She vaguely registered Sam dropping to his knees behind her, offering what comfort he could.

"I'm sorry, princess," Dean was muttering in her ear. "I'm so sorry."

Sam pulled a strand of hair from her face, murmuring, "It's gonna be okay. You gotta know that, baby. It's not now, but it will be. It'll be okay, I promise."

It felt like forever, laying broken there in her brothers' arms, but she finally stopped shaking, only trembling slightly every now and then, her energy completely spent. "We gotta get outa here, princess, okay?" Dean told her quietly. He gently pulled her up until she was standing, but refused to let her go, not trusting her to stand on her own.

Bobby was sitting on the stairs, head in his hands, helpless to protect Emily from what she was feeling. "You okay?" Dean asked. He meant is as a _Can you walk to the car, and can I get you home?_ but she took it as _Are you better now?_

"Fine," she grumbled, pushing him away and tucking her wings back into her tattoo. She stood on her own for a moment before her knees locked, and Sam's arm was around her before she had a chance to fall. "I'm _fine_, damit," she hissed, feeling the emptiness in her chest again. It's like something vitally important should be there, but she is forced to try and survive without it.

She stared to the door, and Sam followed, refusing to let go of her waist. When he stopped abruptly, she heard Dean ask abruptly, "Sam, you okay?"

She spun around, looking up at her brother in alarm. A stream of blood was flowing from his nose, and he looked lightheaded. "Sam?" Dean repeated.

Sam fell to his knees, bringing Emily down with him. His face was contorted in pain, and she knew it wasn't just because of the new cut on his hand from the broken glass scattering the floor. "Sammy?" She held his face in her hands, her body trapped beneath him as he panted for breath above her, barely supporting his own weight on his hands and knees. He suddenly collapsed, slamming her the rest of the way to the floor, scraping her back against the shards of glass.

She ignored the pain, lifting his head from her chest to try and see his face. "Sam?" she called out frantically. "Sammy!"

Dean lifted him off her chest, pulling his younger brother into his arms. "Sam?" his voice had a different tone of desperation as his fingers quickly checked for a pulse. "He's okay, Em," he said quickly, his eyes not leaving his brother. "He's gonna be okay."

She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the pain in her back as her shirt tugged on the glass embedded in her skin. Her only concern was for Sam. Bobby held the doors open as Dean carried his brother outside, up the hill to Emily's truck. She tossed the keys to Bobby before helping Dean get Sam into the truck bed, sinking to her knees beside his head. "You're gonna be okay, Sam," she muttered, holding his head in her lap to protect against the bumps while Bobby drove. "You're gonna be okay."

It felt like an eternity before she finally felt the familiar bump of the driveway, and Bobby came to a stop at the side of the house. She kicked open the gate, jumping from the truck as Dean maneuvered Sam to the edge of the metal. He jumped off first before carrying his brother into the house, quickly followed by Bobby.

Emily stopped at the stairs, refusing to go inside, watching the door slam behind them. She felt sick to her stomach. So much was happening in one day, and she had no one to go to…Balthazar was gone. "Well?" she muttered, glancing up at the sky. "You told me to come back…because he couldn't live without me." She felt the familiar sting of tears at her eyes. "You told me to come back for him, but now what, huh? He's gone. He's _gone_, Gabriel. So what am I supposed to do? WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?!" she screamed up at the sky.

There was no answer. Silence surrounded her like the stench of death, and she finally lost it, vomiting over the side of the railing into Bobby's bushes.

Dean's hand was suddenly on her waist, and he gently pulled her hair away from her face as she tried to catch her breath. "I can't do this," she sobbed.

"Yes you can." Dean's voice was firm, desperately trying to make her see how he felt. "Emily, you are the strongest woman – the strongest _person_ – that I've ever met. You're going to be okay. You always are."

She was crying again, and it had started to drizzle, the rain oddly poetic for their situation. She hated it. "How am I gonna do this, Dean? They're gone. They're all gone."

"I'm here," he practically growled, tightening his grip on her waist. "And I'm always gonna be here." He paused, taking a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer. "Besides, if you can get through this, there's no hope for any of us, is there?"

She tried to smile, but ended up just sighing heavily, leaning over the railing. "Your back doesn't look so good, kid," Dean said quietly. "Leme fix you up."

"No, Dean," she sighed, staring into the darkness. "I'm fine."

"Please, just…let me fix what I can. Please," he muttered, gently stroking a stray hair from her face.

She flinched slightly at Dean's hand, not expecting his presence. The next time he moved to stroke her hair, he was slower, and she leaned into his touch, trying to find something that could ground her to reality. "Okay."


	63. Chapter 63

Dean carefully tugged at her hand, pulling her from the porch railing, heading to the door. She couldn't see Bobby inside, and she assumed that he was downstairs with Sam. Dean led her upstairs instead, into the bathroom.

While Dean looked for the medical supplied in the closet, she stood there, her mind refusing to work properly. It was like everything was a little blurry, and she couldn't think strait. The constant denial of Balthazar's death circling in her head was making her dizzy.

"Princess?" Dean muttered, calling her attention back to him.

Her eyes slowly lifted to meet his, and they were glassy and far away. "Hm?"

He sighed heavily, holding his hand against her head affectionately. She leaned in, looking up at him but not really seeing him. "We're gonna get you cleaned up, and then you're going to bed, okay?"

"Mh-hm," she mumbled, fluttering her eyes closed.

"No, princess, you gotta stay awake for a little while, okay?" She seemed to jerk away, and there was a little more clarity in her eyes before they were clouded over just as quickly.

Dean sighed again, carefully lifting her onto the counter. "Turn around so it can see your back," he said quietly.

She tried to twist around on the counter, but she couldn't muster enough energy to actually move herself. Dean's hands were suddenly on her hips, and she flinched, her heartbeat kicking up a notch. "It's just me," he crooned gently. "I'm gonna help, okay?"

She nodded, letting Dean turn her body until she faced the wall, her legs folded in front of her. She let her forehead heat against the cool plaster as Dean worked behind her. He quickly decided that her shirt wasn't going to survive, and he cut a line up the back of the fabric, allowing him to have better access to her skin.

She flinched every now and then as he pulled various shards of glass from her flesh. He made sure that his search was thorough as he looked for the smallest slivers. The three largest cuts needed butterfly bandages, but the rest would be able to heal on their own.

As he was working, he could feel Emily drop off a few times, only to jerk herself awake, remembering the Dean had told her to keep her eyes open. He covered every cut thoroughly in ointment before carefully lifting her off the counter, one arm under her legs and one at her shoulders, carefully avoiding her back.

"Dean," she mumbled, rolling her head into his chest.

"I'm right here," he said carrying her to the bedroom, gently kicking the door open. He laid her down on her side, and she sighed, almost rolling over onto her back before he caught her. "You gotta sleep on your stomach, okay, princess?"

"Umkay," she mumbled, rolling on her stomach and smothering her own face in the pillow. Despite everything that had happened that day, Dean found himself smiling.

He gently lifted her enough so that he could turn her head, allowing her to breath, before carefully laying her back down. "I love you, princess."

She mumbled an incoherent reply, but he assumed it was an _I love you too_. Or maybe a _Piss off, moron._ That's how he would've responded. "Night, kid," he smiled fondly, quietly shutting the door as he made his way out.

When Emily woke up, there was no light coming through the window to greet her. She moved to push herself off the bed only to collapse, groaning in pain at the resistance from her back. Everything from last night, blurry and uncertain, slowly came back to her, and she tried to look over her shoulder at her back. Her skin was raw, and she had at least twenty-five cuts across her back. She sighed, dropping back into her pillow.

Her mind, although much clearer than it had been earlier than night, began circling around Balthazar once again, and she pushed herself into a sitting position, ignoring the screaming pain in her back. She wasn't getting any sleep tonight. The clock on the bedside table read two thirty, and she swung her legs out from beneath the covers. The jeans she was wearing yesterday were still on, as well as her bra. The attempt to put a shirt on ended as soon as it began when the fabric touched her back, making her skin feel like it was on fire.

When Dean woke up at three, he found her in Bobby's library, a half empty bottle of Scotch open on the table. She was leaning against his desk, staring despondently out the window. He desperately tried to remember how much of the bottle he and Bobby had killed earlier that day.

"Princess?" he asked quietly. She jumped, spinning around to face him and, from the wince on her face, pulled at a barely healed scab. There was a glass of whiskey in her hand, and her eyes were glassy again, although this time there was a much less natural cause than shock. "Emily, what are you doing? You don't drink."

"I can, uh…I can see why you and Bobby like it," she slurred. "It makes you numb. You get the, uh…the-the tingles, and then your head goes _whooo_," her arm flew up, showing him where her head went.

She lost her balance, tripping over herself before Dean steadied her, taking the glass from her hand. "Why don't we go to bed, okay?" he suggested. "

"No," she frowned, pulling against him. "Gimme…gimmie the booze. I meed more. Don't wanna thr…thrink of Balthywalthy."

He hesitated. "No, Em. You've had enough." He pulled her toward the stairs, desperately trying to get her to cooperate.

"I haven't, Dean!" she whined, making a half-hearted attempt to grab her glass. "Noooo!"

Dean quickly quieted her in fear of waking up Bobby. The old man would blow a fuse if he saw her like this. Keeping her at an arm's length, he quickly drowned the remaining contents of her glass and capped the bottle before trying to drag her back upstairs. When she tripped on the third step, he hoisted her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way, laying her gently on the bed again, just as he had done hours before.

"Dean," she mumbled pitifully, grabbing his arm as he pulled away.

"What princess?"

"Stmay wih me," she said into her pillow.

"Stay with you?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She nodded, holding onto him tighter. "Meed you."

"O-okay," he hesitated. "I…I'm just gonna go to the other side of the bed, okay?"

"Uhmaky." He couldn't help the smirk that played across his lips as he listened to her.

The mattress dipped on the other side of the bed, and soon she could feel Dean's body heat radiating against her own. "Bean," she smiled, turning her head to face him.

"Yeah, I'm Bean. Now go to sleep."

"Uhmaky, Bean," she mumbled, her eyelids drooping closed.

He waited until her breath evened out, ensuring that she was asleep, before finally closing his eyes, allowing himself to drift off into a light slumber.


	64. Chapter 64

The next morning, to be frank, was not pretty.

The first thing Emily noticed when she woke up the next morning was the putrid stench of her own breath. Then it was the churning in her stomach. She was barely able to get to the toilet in time before she was throwing up all the liquor from last night. The large hands at her shoulders, brushing her hair out of the way, were a momentary distraction before another wave of bile forced its way up, burning her throat.

When she was finally able to catch her breath, she asked hoarsely, "What times is it?"

"Seven thirty."

Dean's voice echoed in her head, and she immediately brought her hands up to her ears. "_Jesus, dude_. Too loud."

"Sorry." She could hear the smirk in his voice, even though he did whisper for her. "First hangover, huh?"

"Ugh," she moaned, dropping her head onto her arm.

"It'll get better. Take a shower and brush your teeth. I'll get some painkillers, okay?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded, closing her eyes against the sunlight that seemed much brighter than usual.

Standing was a chore in itself, let alone taking a shower. Three minor slips and two stubbed toes later, she had to admit that she felt a bit better, even if the extra anger and frustration came with it.

When Dean gently knocked on the door, Emily opened it with a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth and a town wrapped around her torso. Dean let himself in, carefully closing the door behind him. "Painkillers and water, as promised," he whispered, depositing her salvation on the counter. "And I stared a pot of coffee downstairs."

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

"You breathe a word of this to Bobby, and I'll rip off your nads."

He chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. "Hey, as long as you can keep up the pretense that you're fine and keep him for getting suspicious, I'll stay out of it."

"Dean?" she was hesitant.

"Yeah?"

"Last night…what…what happened, exactly?"

He smirked, his sad eyes staring down at her. There was a time that they would've been twinkling and full of light. "Nothing. You woke up in the middle of the night and decided to get wasted. I covered up the evidence and got you in bed."

"Did I…did I say anything?"

Dean shook his head. "No, not really. You called me Bean."

"Oh my god," she breathed, running her hands over her face.

He chuckled, resting a hand on her shoulder. "It's fine, Em. Just…don't get wasted again, please. At least invite me so I can make sure nothing happens."

She nodded, her hand coming up to move her toothbrush. "Okay."

He grinned, tousling her hair. "See you downstairs."

"Yeah," she muttered, turning back to the sink.

Emily sighed heavily, closing her eyes. She didn't want to think of Balthazar – she'd do practically anything not to. "Gabe, I need help," she muttered, clenching her hands around the edge of the sink. "Dean thinks I can do this. I…I can't, Gabriel. I…"

She sighed again, rubbing her hands over her face, desperately trying to wake up. When she looked up, Emily didn't recognize the face in the mirror. Her eyes were sunken in, and she could swear that there were new lines on her face. For the first time in years, she carefully turned over a section of her hair, and the golden feathers lit up the room, glowing in the light from the window.

In an odd way, it gave her confidence. A thought popped into her head that maybe…just maybe, it's still worth it. Her fingers played with the feathers, and a deep longing filled her heart. "Thank you, Gabriel," she muttered, wiping at her eyes.

There was a knock on the door, and she hastily flipped her hair back over. "Princess, you alright?" Dean's voice was quiet.

"I'm good, bro," she smiled softly as she squeezed past him into the bedroom so she could find a pair of jeans.

Dean hesitated, unsure of how to react to having a door shut in his face. "O-okay…good. I'll, uh…I'll be here if you need me."

"Kay," he heard her say from the other side of the door.

She got changed as quickly as she could with a hangover, and was making her way downstairs in ten minutes. Dean was leaning on the counter, large mug of coffee in his hand. "Hey, kid." His smile was sad, and it immediately sunk her heart as she realized just how much pity she was going to get for the next few months.

"Hey," she mumbled, shakily pouring herself a cup of coffee, almost spilling it a couple times.

After a pregnant pause, Dean asked hesitantly, "I can make you some breakfast if you want."

"I'm good," she replied, looking out the window. "Where's Bobby?"

"Milk run," was his short reply.

Emily took another sip of coffee, letting the mug warm her fingers, before she asked, "How's baby?"

"Good," Dean replied immediately. "Bobby and I towed her back here last night. I'm trying to get the dent out of her roof right now, but she'll be back in no time."

"Good," Emily smiled, "I'm glad she's gonna be okay. If you ever need a hand…"

"Yeah, sure. Whenever you want to help, I'm game."

"Thanks," she smiled.

There was another awkward pause as they tried to avoid the obvious topic of last night. "Well, uh…I'll be outside if you need me," Dean finally said, placing his empty mug in the sink.

"Okay," she tried giving him a smile, and he gently ran a hand over her hair. "I…I love you, princess. You know that, right?"

"I know." She desperately tried to swallow the lump in her throat as she looked up at him, but ended up dropping her gaze to the floor. "Love you too, Dean."

He hesitated as if he was going to say something else, but she soon felt his hand disappear. The garage door shut after him, and a tear slipped down her check, landing on her hand. She cursed under her breath, dropping her half-empty mug into the sink. She grabbed a couple eggs from the refrigerator, desperately trying to calm the queasiness of her stomach.

As the three eggs were frying in the pan, she poured another mug full of coffee and set it on the table. She almost threw up twice at the aroma wafting through the kitchen, but she forced herself to breath, focusing on the task. She could hear Bobby pull his car into the drive as Dean tried to force the dent out of the Impala's roof. The eggs slapped onto the plate, and she kicked open the door to the basement, coffee in one hand, plate in the other. The panic room door was slightly more tricky, and she ended up Kung Fu-ing the door open, with one leg raised into the air and her foot twisting the handle to pull the door adjar.

Sam was passed out on the cot, his hair spread out in a million different directions. She put his breakfast down one of the chairs before moving to sit on the cot next to him. "Sammy?" she muttered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear. "Sam."

She could see him twitch as she continued running her hand through his hair, and, eventually, he opened his eyes. "Em?" His voice was hoarse, and he wasn't sure if what he was seeing was real or not.

"Heya, Sammy," she smiled.

"Hey," he muttered moving to sit up. "What's that smell?"

"I made you breakfast," she told him, moving to grab the food. Sam sat on the edge of the cot, running his hands through his hair, trying to force it to stay flat.

"Thanks, Em," his smile was genuine as he took a long draught of coffee before staring on the eggs. "You eat?" he mumbled, mouth full.

"Yeah, earlier," she lied, trying to ignore the nauseous feeling in her gut.


	65. Chapter 65

**_Six years ago_**

"Why am I doing this?" she asked herself, rubbing her arms. It was more of a comfort than a guard against the wind chill. Her wings were spread, trembling slightly with nerves.

"You want to learn to fly, don't cha?" Gabriel asked from behind her.

"Yeah, but jumping off a two thousand foot cliff?!"

"It's not that tall," he defended meekly, peering over the edge. "At least it's over water."

"Water gets harder the higher your velocity is, Gabe. The surface tension is really high–"

Gabriel interrupted her, slightly annoyed. "Em, Balthazar's going to catch you, okay? No need to go geek on me. Just jump."

She nervously eyed the cliff, going over the pros and cons again in her head. Gabriel saw how her eyebrows pulled together and said, "Balthazar's gonna catch you. You know we wouldn't let anything happen to you, right?"

"I know," she replied immediately. "I just…never mind. I'll do it."

Having decided, she ran at full speed toward the edge of the cliff, only to stop short and circle back. "I can't jump of a cliff!" she shouted. "It's what every adult ever says to you: if everyone else jumped off a cliff would you follow? No, because it's suicide and it's stupid!"

"Em," Gabriel gazed at her, chuckling slightly. "It's not suicide because Balthazar will catch you, and it's not stupid because how else are you going to learn how to fly?"

"Gabriel, there is a defense mechanism built into the human brain that prevents us from jumping off of cliffs. I physically cannot jump of that cliff," she argued.

"Are you sure that's really a thing?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I don't know! But there is no way in hell that I am jumping off that cliff! You're gonna have to throw me."

"Throw you?" Gabriel asked skeptically.

"Dude, I can't do this," she pleaded.

The archangel threw up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. You run towards the cliff as fast as you can, and I'll match your speed, okay?"

"Alright. You're sure I won't be too fast for you?" she teased.

He laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Nope. Now, come on."

She bounced back on her heels a few times, gaining the courage to run, before she sprinted toward the edge of the cliff. True to his word, Gabriel matched her speed, running right beside her. She could feel herself start to slow down as they got closer and closer to the cliff. Gabriel's hand tightened around her waist, pulling her forward. Before she could stop, he had launched her over the cliff and she was freefalling.

A scream caught in her throat as she stared at the ground, so far below her; the trees looked like tiny sprinkles on an ice cream cone. Trying to slow her fall, she held her wings out the best she could, desperately trying to go against the force of the wind. Her left wing snapped open, and she immediately began to spiral. The right wing was much harder to pull out, but with a single, massive effort, it snapped open. She had stopped spiraling and was gliding toward the ground at a much better pace than she had been before. She should have been very proud of this feat, especially since it was her first time flying, except…well, she was upside-down.

_Shit_, she thought, desperately trying to flip herself over before she could hit the ground. She tried to close one wing to spiral herself in a 180 degree turn to flip over, but her wings refused to move. Panic flared in her chest as she stared at her wing, frantically trying to pull it toward her chest. _I'm gonna die_. In her peripheral vision, she could see the tops of the trees coming closer and closer, and she was unable to do anything to protect herself.

She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself to hit the water. Before she could comprehend what was happening, Balthazar's arms were wrapped tightly around her waist, and she could feel herself slow down until she was hanging in midair. With every down stroke of his wings, Balthazar lifted her up another few feet, gradually picking up the speed and altitude to fly back to the cliff.

Her legs were wrapped tightly around his waist as she clung to him for dear life, her head buried in his neck. "Are you alright, love?" he asked carefully.

Emily could feel herself shaking, but she nodded. "Thanks." She winced as her voice cracked and came out higher than she wanted.

He muttered something under his breath in Enochian, but she picked up Gabriel's name. "What?" she asked, trying to get her voice more under control.

"I, uh…I was just swearing at Gabriel…" he said sheepishly. "We never should have tried this."

"I'm okay," she said, trying to convince herself as much as him.

Balthazar's voice was hesitant when he asked, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." She found herself laughing now. "As long as you're here."

"Why do you say that?"

She rested her forehead against his collar bone, trying to find the right words without sounding like a needy twelve-year old. "I guess I never realized it before, but I'll always be fine as long as you're there to catch me."

She couldn't see his eyes widen and his face soften at her words, but she did feel his heartbeat jump. "Balthy? Can I…can I try something?"

"Of course," he replied quickly, hiding the emotion in his voice well.

"I wanna see where we're going. Like…" she paused, trying to word it correctly. "I want to flip over so it's like I'm flying, but you're holding onto me."

The angel paused for a moment. "O-okay. Uh..." Without any warning, he threw her up into the air with the perfect trajectory so that she spun in the 180 she had been trying to accomplish earlier. As she felt herself begin to fall, Balthazar pinned her back to his chest, soaring above the canyon. Her wings were spread out beneath his, and she could feel the air rushing through her feathers. This was flying. This is what is was supposed to feel like.

And it was exhilarating.

Balthazar smiled as she laughed aloud, spreading her arms out alongside her wings. "I'm on top of the world!" she shouted at the top of her lungs.

She should feel the angel sigh, "Really, Emily. The Titanic? Honestly…"

She laughed, the lack of oxygen making her giddy. "God, I want to learn how to do this so badly."

"You're going to jump off the cliff again?" Balthazar asked, slightly taken aback.

She paused. "Will you be there to catch me?"

"Of course." There was no hesitation in his voice, and he made it seem like an absolute fact. "Always."

"Then yes. I'm jumping again," she laughed. "WOO HOO!" she shouted as Balthazar gave an almighty pump of his wings, propelling them higher into the air. "I can _fly_!"

"Yeah," Balthazar chuckled lightly behind her. "You can fly."


	66. Chapter 66

"Emily!"

She sat up with a start, the loss of Balthazar hitting her all over again as if it had just happened. Dean could see it coming a moment before it happened, and he pulled the trash can to the edge of the bed just in time for her to roll over and vomit up not much more than old coffee. She could feel Sam's hands on her back, trying to sooth her by pulling back her hair and rubbing small circles into her skin.

"You gotta talk to me, kid. What's going on?" Dean asked quietly, gently stroking her hair.

She closed her eyes and collapsed onto her arm, trying to even out her breathing. "'m sorry," she gasped, pulling her free arm around her stomach.

Sam hushed her quickly, glaring at Dean. "It's okay, Em."

She heard Bobby take the bucket from the floor, making his way downstairs. "Emily–"

"Dean," Sam's warning tone quickly cut of his brother's voice.

She could feel Dean becoming irritated, and that's the last thing she needed right now. Everything seemed to fall apart around her, and the last couple days crashed over her all at once. She broke down, sobbing into her arm. Dean's anger immediately dissipated, and Sam protectively pulled her into his arms. "Shh, you're going to be okay," Sam crooned, kissing the top of her head. She didn't move for a long time, simply letting the younger Winchester hold her as Dean self-consciously played with her hair, trying to comfort her in the only ways he knew how. She soon found herself drifting off, her breath evening out, and she let herself fall asleep.

When she awoke again, a chill had fallen over the house, and behind the curtains the sky was dark. There was still an emptiness in her chest, but it was easier to ignore now. She groaned, rolling out of bed, just barely able to stand. Her head was throbbing, and her mouth was drier than the Sahara desert.

As she stumbled to the bathroom, her stomach gave a low, empty groan, but, just like the aching loss of Balthazar, she ignored it. Her eyes avoided the mirror as she gripped the sink, instead looking down at her hands. They were cold and shaking slightly. _But hey, at least they're still there_, her own sarcasm doing nothing to lighten her mood.

She brushed her teeth for a good two minutes until she felt almost normal again. It was only then that she focused on the trepidation in her chest. To be fair, she's been feeling like something would go wrong since her angel died, so she was probably just feeling things that weren't there because of her nerves.

A sigh escaped her lips, and her eyes quickly brushed over her form in the mirror, still avoiding her face. She was still wearing her jeans and T-shirt, the same clothes from…was it yesterday? She didn't know.

Her hand was trembling as it gripped the door handle, but she managed, shakily walking down the stairs. An unfamiliar voice was speaking in Bobby's study. His accent was strange, almost European but more neutral, as if he was speaking English the proper way without any specific dialect.

"Leviathans?" Dean had asked him.

"I personally found them entertaining, but he was concerned they'd chomp the entire petri dish. So he locked them away." The man speaking seemed languid, as if he couldn't care one way or another what happened. "Why do you think he created purgatory? To keep those clever, poisonous things out. Now Castiel has swallowed them. He's the one thin membrane between the old ones and your home."

It took her longer than normal to reach the bottom of the stairs, but when she turned the corner she froze, simply staring at the room. There was an older man standing by Bobby and Dean near the bookshelves. He was in a full suit, gloves, and black jacket, holding a dark oak cane capped with a silvery, glass-like orb. His hair was jet black, yet somehow it shone grey in the light from the overhead lamp. It was clear that he was the one who had been speaking.

Sam was standing by the couch, listening to the conversation with every muscle in his body tensed. But her eyes froze on the one thing that made her blood run hot and the new wound in her heart bleed again.

Castiel.

"Enough," the former angel said to the older man.

"Stupid little soldier you are," the man insulted.

"Why?" Castiel advanced on him. "Because I dared open a door that he shut? Where is he? I did a service, taking his place."

"Service?" the old man scoffed. "Settling petty vendettas?"

"No. I'm cleaning up one mess after another – selflessly."

Her heartbeat was raging in her ears, and she barely heard the man comment, "Quite the humanitarian."

Her wings involuntarily ripped from her back, towering over everyone in the room and filling the entire doorway. The bandages were falling off, revealing broken feathers and barely healed flesh that she had neglected to maintain. Even with her disheveled and weak appearance, they could feel the power and anger radiating off her in waves, and all four turned to look at her.

"Emily." Sam's voice was soft but surprised, somehow conveying how much he cared about her in only one word. She wouldn't look at him, refusing to take her eyes off Castiel.

"Ah, so this is the guardian," the old man said, giving her a once-over.

She ignored him as well, staring at the former angel, daring him to make a move. Castiel set his jaw in annoyance, saying, "I do not understand. Balthazar betrayed me, and I could no longer trust him. He had to be punished. Why do you take this so seriously?"

She didn't trust herself to speak in fear that she would break down. Instead, her wings trembled in rage. "Emily," Dean warned. His voice was desperate and scared, but she ignored him.

"Castiel, why must you antagonize her?" the man asked, slightly irritated. "She's clearly been through enough. Besides, even in her current state, you know she could take a decent chunk out of even you."

Her eyes flickered over to the strange man, wondering if that was really true. Was she that powerful? She saw a flicker of doubt in Castiel's eyes as he processed what the man had said.

"Hey," Dean interrupted, glancing warily from one person to the next. His voice, however, was anything but scared. "Put your junk away, all of you." He turned his gaze on the old man. "Just kill him already!"

Castiel slowly turned to face Dean, his face conveying all the rage of a woman scorned. "Alright, fine," the man grumbled, raising his left hand. Without looking away from Dean, Castiel snapped his fingers. A thin, silvery rope shimmered into existence, binding the man's wrists, before it shattered and dissipated.

"Thank you," the man said, craning his neck in an attempt to catch Castiel's gaze. "Shall we kickbox now?"

As Castiel turned his gaze back to the old man, he moved to sit in Bobby's chair, behind his desk, were there was a brown paper bag and a fast-food drink cup. "I had a tingle I'd be reaping someone very, very soon." When he looked up from the bag, Castiel was gone. "Well, he was in a hurry," he remarked, popping a pickle-chip into his mouth.

Emily's wings fell slightly, having lost the chance for revenge. Part of her kicked herself for not killing him when she had the opportunity, but the rest of her simply didn't care.

Looking up from his meal, the man regarded her for a moment before carefully standing up and walking over, stopping only a foot in front of her. She wouldn't meet his eyes, but only stared at the floor apathetically. He gently pulled her chin up to meet his gaze. Even through the fabric covering his hand, she could feel the chill radiating from his skin. "I could take you, if you wanted. I know you've been looking for a way out."

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. When she spoke, her voice was weak and a little hoarse. "I don't understand."

Realization seemed to dawn on his face as he said, "Of course. These buffoons wouldn't have told you even if they did know about everything you went through before Paris."

Her heart sped up as she gazed up at him. "How did you… Who are you?"

"I'm Death."


	67. Chapter 67

Her eyes widened slightly. "I could take you," he continued, "but then again…" He trailed off as his fingers moved to her hair, gently flipping over a section to reveal Gabriel's feathers.

"You remind me a lot of a woman from not long ago. I believe you call her…the Virgin Mary. Full of spunk as well, that one…that is, until her son was crucified. She was able to carry on, living out her life even with that darkness inside of her. When it came to her natural time…for the first time in my _long_ life…I didn't want to take her." His eyes moved from the archangel's feathers to meet her eyes once more. "I don't want to take you either, but if it's what you really want…then who am I to deny you."

He could see the war raging in her eyes, his offer so tempting to her. "Do keep in mind," he said quietly, gently pulling a feather between his fingers, "if I take you, you won't see your angel again."

Her eyebrows furrowed, and she could feel the distant longing in her chest. "Think about that for a moment while I deal with your charges," he said gently, his fingers leaving her hair as he turned back to Dean. "Now, where were we..."

She refused to look at any of the three men in the room, knowing that they would be looking at her with only pity and betrayal. "I'm not here to tie your shoes every time you trip," Death was saying to the older Winchester. "I warned you about those souls how long ago? Long enough to stop that fool, and here we are again…with your little planet of the edge of immolation."

Death's small speech seemed to be enough to temporarily distract Dean from his conversation with Emily. "Well I'm sorry," he growled. "Alright? I've been trying to save this planet, so maybe you should find somebody better to tip off."

"Maybe I should spend my effort on a better planet," he said. "Well, it's been amusing."

"Wait, h-hold on," Sam spoke up. "Just – can you give us something? You have to care a little bit about what happens to us."

"You know I really don't, but I do find that little angel arrogant."

Dean's eyes lit up a fraction. "Great, let's go with that!"

Death, ignoring his excitement, said, "Your only hope is to have him return it all to purgatory. Quickly."

"We need a door," Sam said.

Death turned to the younger Winchester. "You have everything you need at that lab. Get him to return there and compel him to give up the power."

"Compel?" Dean scoffed.

"Figure it out."

"But that door only opens in the eclipse, and that's over," Bobby put in.

"I'll make another. Three fifty-nine, Sunday morning just before dawn. Be punctual." He turned to Dean and raised a finger. "Don't thank me. Clean up your mess. Oh, try to bind me again…you'll die before you start."

He turned to Emily, apparently done with the boys. "Well?" his voice was gentle, yet demanding. \

Her fingers had been twisting Gabriel's feathers, and she froze, looking up at him. "Where do I go when I die?"

Death smirked slightly, as if he's heard that question a thousand times. He probably has. "I am sorry, but I can't tell you."

She nodded, as she had ben expecting that answer. "I'm assuming it's not heaven, because you said Gabriel wouldn't be able to see me." His face didn't give anything away, and he refused to speak. The alternatives to heaven were…well, not very appealing. And if she couldn't see Gabriel…

"I-I'm sorry," she stuttered, lowering her eyes to the floor. She dropped her hands to her side but left Gabriel's feathers out in the open. She shook her head gently, as if scared of what he might think.

Death's fingers were under her chin once more, pulling her gaze up to meet his. To her surprise, he was actually smiling. "Good. It's not your time yet, anyway."

He began to walk away, only to turn back a moment later. "Oh, and you should know, as Balthazar probably never told you, an archangel blade can kill a guardian. I figured you would want to know that." He was practically out the door this time when he turned around again. "Nice pickle chips, by the way."

She stared at the doorway where he had disappeared, unsure how she actually felt about rejecting his offer. What it just the fear of what was on the other side, or was there actually something here that was worth it?

"Emily, what–" Dean began, but she quickly walked to the garage door, effectively cutting him off. "Em!"

She heard Bobby say something to him, but she was too far gone to make out his words. She sped all the way to the firehouse, barely thinking about where she was going, driving on autopilot.

She was bent under the hood of the '70 Challenger before she came back to herself, realizing that she had no tools. It wasn't like she needed any more work anyway; the car had been in mint condition for months now.

Dropping to her knees in front of the car, she leaned against the grill, just focusing on breathing. When absolutely nothing else in her life made sense, she could always fall back on the most basic fact of her life: she was alive. She had to breath, and focus on staying alive.

She stayed there all night, washing the car over and over until her hands were numb. The car, however, shone just as bright as it had the day she showed Dean. A long sigh forced itself from her chest, and quickly cleaned up, putting everything back in order before closing the garage door.

Pulling an old key from her back pocket, she opened the front door to the residential section, the door making a wide arc in the dusk covering the floor. Bypassing the kitchen area, she climbed the metal stairs to the loft area, circling around the metal emergency pole. The open loft was a lounge area, with two couches and a flat screen. She passed through this room as well, heading to one of the oak doors. The one on the left led to the bathroom, but the door farther down was the bedroom, where there were four bunk beds. The door at the end of the hall used to be the office before Emily accidentally blew the roof off.

She always chose the top bunk closest to the window, so she could see the stars. That night, she opened the window as wide as she was able, before carefully taking the sheets from her bunk and shaking them outside the window to remove the dust. After perfectly making the bed again, she climbed in, only bothering to take off her shoes.

The stars seemed to stare back as she gazed up at them, peering into her soul. She always felt a sense of wonder when she stared at the sky, especially here where she could see millions of stars, including the dusty arm of the Milky Way.

Just as she had countless nights before, Emily fell asleep watching the stars make their journey across the sky. Every single star up there had its place, every planet, every galaxy. They all had their paths across the night sky. Every constellation will all their stories moving in perfect synchronization. They all knew exactly where they had to be and exactly what their path was.

What was hers?


	68. Chapter 68

She gently awoke the next morning to the sun streaming through the window, blinding her from the paths of the stars. The night was so much more peaceful to her; everything made more sense. Surprising herself, she rolled back over, ignoring the birds, and slept for another three hours. The sun was much higher in the sky when she finally decided to get up, and the birds somehow seemed quieter.

Rolling out of bed, she stumbled down the ladder and slipped on her shoes before making her way downstairs. There used to be days when she would fearlessly jump to the pole, spinning down to the first floor with an exited squeal. But not today.

She staggered into the kitchen, remembering the (probably stale) box of cereal in one of the cupboards above the refrigerator. Climbing the counter, she grabbed the box before slipping back down to the floor before opening the box. Just as she predicated, it was stale but still good. She sat on the counter next to the sink, cross-legged and staring out the window, watching the birds frolic in the overgrown backyard.

The small handful of cereal that she did eat sat fairly well in her stomach, and she wasn't very nauseous afterwards. _That's a good sign_, she thought to herself.

Seemingly out of the blue, the thought crossed her mind that she should probably check her phone. She sighed, slipping off the counter and tossed the box of cereal on the counter next to the refrigerator. The door slammed behind her as she walked out to her truck, grabbing her phone from the passenger seat. She jumped into the bed of the truck, climbing to sit of the roof of the cab, feet dangling over the windshield.

There were sixteen missed calls from Dean, twelve from Bobby, and three from Sam, as well as eight messages. She opened the first one and held the phone to her ear. "Emily! Come on, where the hell did you go?" Dean's voice filled her head.

There were more like that, even one of that nature from Sam, before Dean's voice was telling her, "Cas is with us. We're going to the lab where we were the other night. Come when you get the chance."

The next one was from Sam. "Hey, Em. We, uh…we lost Cas. All the souls got back to Purgatory, but the Leviathan got free. And Dean…Dean's not doing so good. Just – just come home."

The last message on her phone was from Dean. "Em. Listen," his voice sounded broken and so helpless, "I'm so, so sorry what Cas did to Balthazar. Please, Em, you gotta believe it wasn't his fault. Cas…you don't know him as well as I do, and he would never hurt a fly if he could help it.

"And what Death said…please, Em, don't do this to yourself – to us. I lo–" the line cut out, and she dropped her phone into her lap.

Biting her lip to stop herself from crying, she stared up at the sky, watching the clouds for a minute. _"I'm fine,"_ she sent a quick text to Dean.

In a couple minutes her phone was lighting up again with calls from Sam and Dean, but she only tossed it back on the passenger seat, opening the garage doors. She completely cleaned out the garage that day, even driving into town to finally pick up her own set of tools for the car. As the soapy water from the garage floor drained onto the dirt path, Emily finally realized that it was getting dark. In fact, it was almost dusk already. She sighed, stretching out her sore muscles, and gazed fondly at her car.

Grabbing her phone from the seat again, she listened to the messages while leaning against the driver side door, picking at her nails. There were only three this time for the twenty missed calls, and it was the same message from Dean, always somewhere on the lines of, "come home, we miss you."

She took the phone inside this time, slamming the garage doors closed before walking through the front door. Her stomach growled uncomfortably, and she found herself grabbing another handful of cereal. She only got through half of it before her stomach began to flip, so she poured the rest back into the box.

She sighed, running her hands through her hair. Her stomach was shrinking, and she was so hungry. She desperately wanted to eat, but she knew that if she pushed herself she would only throw it back up.

Overall, she did feel better today. _And that's a good thing_, she thought, climbing the stairs to the bedroom. The stars were out again tonight, and she stared up at them from her position on the mattress. It was like a security blanket, sleeping under the watchful eyes of the constellations. She let that feeling of protection wash over her as she closed her eyes, falling asleep.

The next morning, she didn't rise with the birds, but slept until at least noon. If it wasn't for her bladder, she could've slept for another few hours. After relieving herself, she tried grabbing another handful of cereal from the kitchen, again only getting through half of it before she became queasy.

Grumbling under her breath, she unceremoniously tossed the box onto the counter and picked up the phone. There was only one message this time, from Sam. "Hey, Em. Dean went to Stockville, North Kansas to look at a Leviathan thing…something about a swim team, so it's just me and Bobby at the house. If you want to come back…" he trailed off. She could hear his breath hitch as if he was about to say something else. But he hesitated and the line went dead.

She tossed the phone back on the table and headed outside. It wasn't that she didn't want to go back, it was just that…she wasn't ready yet. Grabbing the toolbox from the garage, she began working on her truck instead of the Challenger, figuring it might need a tune up.

It turned out that the truck was in worse shape than she had anticipated, and, by the time she was satisfied, another day had gone by. Her muscles ached in the best way, just as they had yesterday. The pain let her know that she was still alive, and she was still able. So despite the soreness in her limbs, she smiled.

Once she had cleaned up with the toolbox tucked safely in the closed garage, she decided to check her phone again, just to make sure everyone was okay. There was one message, from Sam, and it was time stamped from ten minutes ago. "Uh…Bobby went to check on Jody Mills, a sheriff we worked with a while back… It's another Leviathan thing. So, it's just me at the house…if you want to come back."

Against her better reasoning, she found herself hitting the speed dial for Sam's number, anxiously waiting for him to pick up. Fortunately, she only had to wait for the second ring.

"Emily?" Sam's voice asked from the other end of the line, sounding desperately hopeful.

She hesitated. When she spoke, her voice was soft and nervous. "Hey, Sammy."

"H-Hey," his voice was shaky, but defiantly exited. "How are you?"

"I'm…I'm okay, Sammy," she answered honestly. "How are you doing?"

He hesitated. "I'm okay, too."

"Good," she found herself smiling. There was a pause, neither one of them quite knowing what to say, before Emily spoke up. "I was thinking…can…would it be okay…"

"Yeah?" he urged her on when she couldn't find the right words.

She sighed, slumping down onto the floor of the kitchen. "I wanna come home, Sammy."

"Yeah?" His voice rose, almost afraid to get his hopes up.

"Yeah." She hesitated, "Would…would that be okay?"

"Would that – yeah, Em, yeah," he practically laughed.

"Yeah?" she found herself smiling.

"Please."

She swallowed back a sob, fighting to speak normally. "I can, uh…I can be there in fifteen?"

"O-okay," she could practically hear him smiling.

"I'll be right there, Sammy."


	69. Chapter 69

It took her three minutes to lock up and jump in her truck, and only eight minutes more to pull into Bobby's driveway. She was knocking in the front door before she knew it, fiddling with her hands. The door suddenly swung open before her, and she was immediately enveloped in Sam's tight embrace.

She was completely sideswiped, expecting a totally different response from him. He rested his cheek on her head, but she hesitated unsure of how to respond. "Sammy," she muttered, tentatively wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Hi," he mumbled into her hair, tightening his grip.

"I'm sorry, Sammy." He didn't respond, but his hand began rubbing small circles into her back. She relaxed into his arms, leaning her weight into him.

"Come inside?" he muttered.

She nodded, letting him pull her into the house. Sam started moving around the kitchen, but she wasn't really concentrating on him. Her focus had been pulled by a long, white envelop sitting on the kitchen table. Her name was scrawled across the front in Balthazar's cursive.

Her fingers involuntarily trembled slightly as she picked it up. "Em?" Sam's voice was quiet and hesitant.

She met his eyes, suddenly feeling the urge to run again. He was standing by the other side of the table, steaming bowl of cheap mac and cheese, the kind they used to live on when they were younger. He looked down at the envelop in her hands and cautiously opened his mouth. "You should read it."

Sam slowly came over to her side of the table, carefully wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She wanted nothing more than to drop the envelope on the table and forget about it, but her hands refused to ease their grip. "I…I can't, Sam. I won't be able to get through it."

"I can read it to you…if you want." After everything this week, his simple, heartfelt offer was the last straw, and she cracked, a tear slipping down her cheek.

She nodded, not trusting her voice, and held the envelope out to Sam. The paper was shaking in her hand, and Sam's hand rested on hers for moment, offering her what comfort he could, before taking the envelope. The mac and cheese was held out for her, but she only stared at it, wondering if she would actually be able to stomach it.

Picking up the fact that her discomfort was about more than just the envelope, Sam asked, "What's wrong?"

She hesitated, unsure of what to say. "I, uh…I don't know if I'm going to be able to eat it."

"Why?" His eyes were adorable, filled with a puppy-like concern for her.

"I, uh…" she couldn't bring herself to break his bubble. "I just haven't been eating as much as normal lately."

"How much exactly," his forehead furrowed as he looked down at her.

She didn't want to answer, and she desperately tried to find a diplomatic way out of the question. She hesitated too long, and Sam pressed her again, "Emily."

"A handful of cereal," she sighed, looking anxiously down at the bowl of food.

"For each meal?" he asked hopefully, an undertone of shock in his voice.

She swallowed, gathering her courage to speak. "Each day."

In her peripheral vision, she could see Sam's shoulder's slump, and she braced herself for the emotional rant he was about to go on.

"Okay. Why don't we go sit down, and you just eat what you can. Is that alright?"

Her head shot up, and she met his tired eyes. That had not been the response she was expecting at all. "O-okay."

Sam gave her a sad smile as she finally took the steaming bowl, taking a deep breath. The aroma aroused something in her stomach, but it wasn't nausea. _That's good_, she thought.

She followed him into Bobby's library and curled up into the pillows on one end of the couch. "You good?" he asked gently, sitting down across from her, his feet brushing hers.

"Yeah," she took a breath, mentally trying to brace herself for whatever Balthazar wrote.

"You're sure you don't mind me reading this?" he hesitated.

"No, Sammy," she found herself smiling.

He smiled back, before moving to pull open the envelop. He gently pulled the letter out, looking down at it for a moment before returning his gaze to her. "Take a bite and I'll start reading."

She pouted for a moment, nevertheless lifting the spoon to her mouth and swallowing it down. Her stomach reacted more positively than she had expected, and she surprised Sam by eating another half-spoonful.

With a huge grin on his face, he looked back to the paper. "'Dearest Emily. I know our conversation with your brother and Bobby today left you with more questions than you had before. Here, I've written down all my knowledge of your species, including what I told you today.' When was this?" Sam asked.

It took her a second to recognize that the question was Sam's, not Balthazar's. "Uh…you were downstairs after Castiel broke down your wall. It was the day we went to help Dean and Bobby to stop Cas from cracking Purgatory."

"Oh," he mumbled. "Take another bite."

She quickly brought another spoonful to her mouth. When he continued, there was a tone of amusement in his voice. "He started to title different sections of the letter now, almost like a friggin textbook. This one he called 'Biology. The most noticeable feature of a guardian is their weight. The average adult male is about one hundred pounds, while the average adult female weighs about eighty pounds. This explains your weight, which I know you always wondered about.' How much to you weight?"

"Seventy-four. Probably in the sixties now," she told him, and his eyebrows shot up.

"Really? I always knew you were light, but I thought you were about ninety."

She chuckled a little, eating another spoonful of mac and cheese before he could ask. She caught him smiling as he turned back to the paper. "The major reason for this disparity in weight between guardians and humans is the fact that guardian's bones are mostly hollow, allowing for a smaller wingspan and faster flight. A guardian's internal organs are also slightly different from humans, mainly in the fact that guardians have much larger lungs. They also have a very fast metabolism and a smaller intestinal system, even though the stomach is just as large as a humans'.' So that's why you have to pee so much when we're on the road," Sam teased.

She grinned, spoon hanging out of her mouth. Sam asked, "Is that the same bite or another one?"

"Thame," she mumbled, not bothering to remove the spoon.

He grinned slightly, playfully threatening her, "Eat or I stop reading."

She stuck her tongue out, but did as he asked, swallowing another spoonful of macaroni. To her surprise, the more she began to eat, the hungrier she was becoming.

"'A guardian's wings are strikingly similar to those of birds, but they are endowed with certain defense mechanisms. When a guardian angel evolves (that thing I was telling you about where you feel yourself becoming much more powerful), they get more defense mechanisms, or weapons, if you will, that they didn't have as children or as teenagers. For one thing, their wings have the ability to sharpen the feathers. It's a very complicated process, even though it takes less than a fraction of a second, but, put simply, each individual barb of every feather becomes harder than titanium and unbelievably sharp. With enough adrenaline, another set of teeth emerge, much sharper and designed to kill. The nails harden and sharpen to points as well, making an evolved guardian the perfect weapon in a fight. This is why so many wealthy people in the supernatural world employ guardians.'"

"I'm a freak," she mumbled, staring down at the back of her hands.

Sam leaned forward, gently gripping her leg. "Em, you're not a freak. This is who you are, and there is absolutely nothing to be ashamed about. If anyone's a freak here it's me."

"Nothing is wrong with you, Sammy. I'm not human," she protested.

"Neither am I!" Her had shot up and she stared at him in confusion. "I'm half demon, Em. That night, when I was six months old, Azaael bled into my mouth. We didn't know, but he was raising a psychic, half-demon army to try and take over the world. For a while, I could see people dying in my head, sometimes days before it happened. The powers went away after we killed Azazel, but that doesn't make me fully human. So, if anyone is really the freak, it's me."

She stared at him, concern flooding her eyes. "You never told me," she softly accused.

He only shrugged, leaning back into the couch, and picked up the letter again. "Eat."

"Sam–"

"Eat," he insisted, watching her carefully.

She grumbled under her breath, but obeyed him, shoving another spoonful of mac and cheese into her mouth. He watched, making sure that she swallowed, before continuing to read.


	70. Chapter 70

"He titled this section 'Charges and Emotions. When a guardian bonds with its charge, biological changed occur in the guardian's brain, activating areas that are above human potential. Depending on the areas the guardian chooses to focus on in training, there are possibilities for telepathy, teleportation, dream manipulation, mind control, and telekinesis.'" Sam glanced up at her, and she was staring at him in horror.

"Eat," he muttered softly. His gaze conveyed a single thought: _I don't think you're a freak_.

She was no longer hungry, the sick feeling sinking into her gut once more, but she forced another spoonful into her mouth, swallowing it for Sam.

"'When a guardian bonds with their charge, their unconscious priorities immediately change, the new charges being their foremost thought in every living moment. Whenever a charge is injured or not in the safety of their guardian, the guardian (whether consciously or unconsciously) can only focus on the lost or injured charge; all else in the guardian's life is put on hold until the charge is safe. (Emily, this explains why you were unable to love Gabriel. This is also the reason for your awaked sexual feeling tow–'" Sam broke off, looking up at her.

"What, Sammy?" she asked, concern lacing her voice.

"F-for your awaked sexual feelings…towards both your brothers. This – this does not mean that you are actually…actually attracted to them both. Your sex drive has been awakened now that you have been reunited with your charges, and your hormones are on overdrive, causing you to be attracted to a wide variety of people that you normall would not be.)' You didn't tell me…" he trailed off, glancing up from the paper.

A furious blush was rising in her cheeks, and she stared down at her macaroni. "What was I supposed to do Sam? 'Hey, you're my brother, and I've never felt anything towards you before cause _you're my brother_ – but _hey,_ I've thought about you like that and I kinda wanna have sex with you!'" she ranted, guilt pooling in her gut. "Please, I just…I'm sorry."

"Emily, it's not your fault," Sam said firmly. "Look at me."

She shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Emily," he repeated, his voice stronger. Her eyes squeezed shut, unable to look him in the eye.

She could feel the cushion shift beneath her, and Sam's hand was suddenly under her chin, lifting her head up. Her eyes flickered open to meek his brilliant hazel, and she found herself apologizing again.

"Emily, it is not your fault. My father screwed you up by taking us away, and I would do anything to fix it so you wouldn't have to feel this way. None of this is your fault. I get that you don't want to feel like this, and it's okay. You're not gonna hurt me, and you're not gonna hurt Dean. From what Balthazar wrote, it sounds like, given the opportunity, you could've had a chance with Gabriel."

Her heart hit her throat, and another tear escaped at the sound of his name. "You don't know what I did to him, Sam."

"What?" he asked gently, dropping his hand to hold hers.

_The house was built into the side of a mountain in southern France. Her favorite room was in the bottom half of the house, and it protruded from the side of the mountain. There was an enormous window that covered the entire section of the house that was not burrowed into the mountain; from here, she could see for miles in any direction. Seeing how joyful it made her, the angel's quickly declared the room hers, and gave her a giant king sized bed, which she tucked into the back corner as to not obstruct her view. _

_It was during June, two years ago, that Gabriel gently knocked on her door, biting his lip with anxiety. "Yeah?" she cheerfully called out, inviting him in, _

_Gabriel had been unusually kind to her all week, so it wasn't that big of a surprise when he entered bearing roses and three boxes of chocolate strawberries. She had laughed, kissing him on the cheek before grabbing one of the boxes. The archangel snapped his fingers, and the bouquet of roses was suddenly sitting on the table in a vase full of water. _

_He sat down with Emily on the floor, leaning against the couch and facing the window. "Gabe," she began quietly, sucking on a strawberry, "not that I'm complaining or anything, but why are you being so nice."_

_"What I can't be nice to you?" he smirked, casually wrapping an arm around her shoulders. _

_"You're always nice, it's just…I don't know, maybe I'm imagining things," she said. _

_He sighed, staring out the window up at the night sky. There was virtually no light pollution in these mountains, and they could see millions of stars scattered across the sky, an arm of the Milky Way sweeping them forward. "Beautiful, isn't it?" she asked quietly. "I love it when there's no clouds."_

_Gabriel didn't respond, only pulled her closer. Her leaned her head on his shoulder, savoring another piece of fruit. "Emily," he began quietly. _

_"Hm?"_

_He hesitated. "Do…do you think it's possible for an angel to love?" he asked slowly. _

_"Love in what sense?" she asked. "In familial, human terms, I know you and Balthazar love me."_

_"I mean something deeper," he replied carefully. "Love strong enough that you would die for another without thought. You would sacrifice yourself a billion times over. You would do anything and everything in your power…just to make her smile."_

_She looked up at him, awe and uncertainty clashing in her eyes. "Gabirel?" she asked him quietly. The one word seemed, to him, to hold the weight of a thousand suns. _

_"If that's what love is," he whispered, "then…I love you, Emily."_

_Suddenly, like a relapse, thoughts of her brothers flooded her mind, and the guilt began consuming her. What was she even doing here anyway? They needed her, they could be hurt. They were the most important people in her life, and we was sitting her in the lap of luxury having left them for the dogs. I wasn't right that she got to love Gabriel. It wasn't right that she has everything, and they could be dying after she abandoned them. _

_She looked up at him, tears forming in her eyes. "Gabe…"_

_He sighs in defeat, looking at the floor. "I'm sorry. I know. I shouldn't have said anything."_

_"I'm so sorry, Gabe…I can't."_

_"I know sweetheart," he said, pulling her close to him._

_Tears began to soak his shirt as she shook in his arms. "I want to – dear God, I want, but I just…can't. I have to find them._

_"I know. I know, sweetheart. Please. Don't cry."_

_"I'm sorry," she whispered, tightening her hold on his waist._

_"Don't apologize. You can't change it. This was my fault, Emily, not yours. And I completely, completely understand."_

_"I love you, Gabriel."_

_"Please," he choked, kissing the top of her head. "Don't."_

_"I'm sorry," she whispered, nuzzling her head into his chest. "I'm so sorry."_


	71. Chapter 71

She finally finished telling Sam through her pathetic sobbing, trembling in his arms. "It's not your fault, baby," he said quietly. "I'm sure Gabriel knows that."

"I hurt him so bad, Sam," she cried. "We couldn't look each other in the eye for weeks. I finally left, going back to Bobby's to trying and find you guys. We didn't talk for a month, and it was so awkward, Sammy. He hated me."

"He didn't hate you, Em. I promise," Sam told her. "It's not your fault."

His hand began to rub small circles into her back under her shirt, in an attempt to comfort her. She never answered him, only laid in his arms. As her sobs finally began to quiet, Sam's hand had traveled further up her back, pulling her shirt with it and revealing some skin. The inky feathers that he saw were bent or broken, and an old line of gauze was coming lose.

"Em," he murmured quietly, slight frown creasing his features. When she only sniffed, he continued, "Can I see you back?"

"Why?" she mumbled into his shirt.

He stroked a lock of hair from her cheek. "Your wings don't look so good."

"So? I hate 'em anyway," she muttered.

"Em, you're beautiful, okay? All of you. You shouldn't give a shit that you're not human because I think it's pretty friggin' awesome," Sam said, his voice forceful.

She hesitated. "You really think so, Sammy?'

"You really don't see how beautiful you are, do you?"

There was no possible response to that, so the just laid there, her head buried in his shoulder. "Come on," he coaxed. "Lemme see your wings."

She groaned, moving to push herself into a sitting position. Sam immediately began to help her, supporting her weight in his arms. Smoothing back her hair, she sniffed and rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand.

"Need a tissue?" Sam asked, a tone of amusement in his voice.

Grunting a _no_, she crawled to the other side of the couch, he back facing him, before slipping the T-shirt over her head. "Woah!" Sam immediately yelled. "What are you doing?"

"I don't wanna rip my shirt, Gigantor."

He hesitated. "O-oh."

She pulled at her wings, and they rose from her back, filling the room. Well, one wing stretched to fill the room while the other was being crushed in to the couch.

Sam didn't speak for a while, taking in the view before him. Her once magnificent wings were broken and bloody, shadows of the beauty and grace they once possessed. The bandages that Balthazar had so skillfully wrapped around her wounds were hanging loose and trailing down her wings, leaving the marred flesh exposed.

When Sam finally did speak, he asked, "Wha…What do I do? Balthazar already stitched the major wounds closed, so sh-should I just wrap them again?"

She nodded, leaning her head into the armrest of the couch and closing her eyes. "Okay."

"I didn't see your back before. Was that from when I passed out on top of you?" It took her a moment to realize that he was referring to the cuts from the broken glass back in the warehouse.

"It's fine, Sam." she said.

He didn't move for a moment. Eventually, she heard him pick up the discarded mac and cheese bowl before heading off to find supplies. Apparently, she had dozed off because when Sam's hand touched her lower back, adrenaline kicked through her, and she jumped, twisting to look at him.

His hands were raised in surrender, and a pitiful look crossed his features. "It's just me, baby." She sighed, dropping her head back to its original position. "Sorry."

"It's 'kay," she mumbled.

She could feel herself slipping in and out of consciousness while Sam reverently worked to rewrap her wings, his fingers careful to avoid any raw areas. As his continued, she could feel him becoming angrier with every broken feather he crossed.

"What's wrong?" she asked gently, trying to force herself to stay awake.

He hesitated. "What Crowley did to you…I swear to God I'm gonna kill him."

"It's okay, Sammy?"

"What?" He was completely stunned at her response; how could _this_ ever be okay?

"We'll get the S.O.B. later, but right now we have bigger problems, like the Leviathan. And your head," she added carefully.

"My head?" Sam feigned ignorance.

"Don't play stupid, Sammy," she said gently. "Cas didn't fix you, and you had to pull yourself out of that pit. What's going on?"

He didn't respond for a long time, only continued to wrap new gauze between her feathers. "When Lucifer was topside," he began carefully, "we came up with the last resort plan that I would give consent to be his vessel and jump in the pit." She set her jaw, hating where his story was going. "I, uh…I did. Cas pulled me out, but I came back soulless. Eventually, Death brought back my soul and put up a wall in my head so I wouldn't remember hell. When Cas broke it, I…stuff is leaking through now, and I'm starting to…starting to get hallucinations." She frowned. That was never good. "Recently, it's gotten a lot more realistic, and sometimes I can't really tell what's real and what's not."

Sam's fingers had stopped, and she turned around to face him, her wings protectively encompassing them both. He was kneeling on the floor in front of her, head bowed. She took one of his hands in hers. "What kind of stuff are you seeing, Sam?"

He hesitated. "Lucifer."

She didn't jump, didn't gasp, didn't have any visual reaction. That's not what Sam needed right now. Instead, she only comfortingly rubbed her thumb over his hand. "Okay."

"Okay?" he looked up at her in shock.

"We'll deal, Sammy. We always do. It's gonna be okay." He stared up at her, not sure what to think. "Is he here now?"

Sam hesitated. "No. It's better when you're around."

She caught herself smiling. "Well, stick by me then, okay? I got you."

He bowed his head again, resting it against her knees. It was odd, she thought, that Sam felt so dependent on her. She honestly wasn't used to this kind of blatant responsibility. Even though she always felt responsible for them, they had never really acknowledged it. She ran a hand through his hair, tucking a few strands behind his ear.

Seeming to come back to himself, he abruptly stood up, moving behind her. "Sammy, what's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing." His voice was soft, as if he was actually okay, which is not what she had been expecting.

"You sure?"

"I'm good." His fingers began working with her wings again, tying the last knot in the gauze. "I'm done. You're good."

She carefully pulled her wings back, ignoring the discomfort, until they were ink again. "Thanks Sam."

He pulled her back into his chest and laid down on the couch, taking her with him. "Sam?"

With the clicker, he turned the television on, before burying his face in her neck, his arms wrapped tightly around her as they watched the cartoons flicking across the screen. When he spoke, his voice was weaker than normal. "Don't leave."

She hesitated, taking a breath. "I won't, Sammy. Never again."


	72. Chapter 72

She had gotten used to Sam's protective arms around her, so when she woke up without him, it was a little strange. Groaning, she rolled off the couch and spotted Balthazar's letter on the carpet. They had only been able to get through a section of it last night. She picked it up, carefully folding it before shoving it into the pocket of her jeans.

"Sam?" she called, making her way to the kitchen.

Out of nowhere, she was sideswiped, and her head slammed into the ground. She moaned, lifting her head, struggling to stay conscious, only to have it slammed back into the ground. Darkness swam before her eyes, and she realized that her fight was a losing battle.

"I think I'll save you for a snack," a masculine voice hissed. The third time her head hit the floor, her eyes fluttered closed, and she passed out.

The shouting woke her, or maybe it was the recognition of Dean's voice. She groaned, picking her head up from the dirt. "Where is Emily, you freak?" Dean was yelling.

"Dean, now!" Sam called out.

She heard an unhuman scream before there was a crash so severe she could feel it through the dirt. "Sam!" Dean shouted.

They were in trouble. Sammy was in trouble. She desperately fought to get up, but her hands were tied behind her back, preventing her from pushed against the ground. When she tried getting to her knees, a sharp pain burst in her leg, and she collapsed, face first, back into the dirt. "Dean!" she screamed.

"Emily?!" his voice was frantic.

"What happened to Sam?!" she called across the piles of cars.

"Leviathan hit him. He passed out, but he's alive. I'm calling 911. I can't get up," his voice called back.

She groaned, ripping her wings from her back. With one almighty stroke, she was vertical, balancing precariously on one leg. "I'm coming!" she yelled.

She used her wings to power-jump over a pile of cars, crumpling into the dirt when she landed on the other side. "Dean?!"

"I'm here!" He was closer now, maybe three stacks of cars away. She could hear his mumbled voice talking to someone on the phone, probably the emergency operators. She pushed herself up from the dirt again, desperately trying to ignore the pain in her wings. When she hit the ground after jumping another stack, her already injured leg landed oddly beneath her, twisting unnaturally. She hadn't realize that she cried out in pain, but Dean called out to her, "Em?! What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," she groaned. He was one more stack away. One more. She could do this. Her wings didn't push off hard enough, and, before she could get her balance, she slammed back into the ground.

"Em?!" Dean was beginning to panic.

She grunted, summoning all her strength to push up against the ground, and, with an almighty stroke of her wings, she was standing on one foot again. "I'm coming. I'm coming," she muttered. With a deep breath, she jumped over the cars, only just clearing the metal. She landed with a sickening thud about five feet away from Dean.

"Emily!"

"I'm okay," she groaned, taking a moment to breathe. "Can you cut the ropes?"

She could her him dragging himself over to her before his hands were on her wrists, and the pressure was immediately relieved. "Thank you," she gasped, pushing herself off the ground to survey her surroundings. "What happened to you? Why can't you walk?"

"Broke my leg," he grunted, flipping the pocket knife closed.

"Where's Sam?"

Before she could respond, she spotted him a couple feet away. Using her arms and her wings, she quickly dragged herself over to his unresponsive body. As she leaned over him, checking his pulse, her wings instinctively arched over him.

"Em," Dean grunted. "You gotta put 'em away. The cops are coming."

She was barely able to pull her wings back into her skin before the ambulance was in the driveway. The paramedics ran up to the three of them, making their way to Sam first. "Em," Dean called to her. "Go with Sam. Do not let him die, you understand me?"

Her eyes were wide as she looked back at him, her chest constricting. To not let him die…did she have that kind of power? She spun back around when a medic began lifting her off of Sam. "No, Sammy!"

"Hey, kid? I need you to focus," the medic was saying. "Where are you hurt?"

"I can go with Sam, right?" she looked up at him, the fear evident in her eyes. In the background, she heard an EMT call for another ambulance for Dean.

"Sure, you can ride with Sam. But first you gotta tell me where you're hurt," he soothed.

She swallowed, watching another man shine a flashlight in Sam's eyes. "I got knocked out last night – don't know if I have a concussion. Something's wrong with my leg. I twisted it, but it was hurt before that. Is Sammy gonna be okay?"

"Sam is gonna be fine, kid. What's your name?" he asked as his partner brought out two stretchers.

"Emily." She watched as two men lifted Sam onto one of the stretchers, his head flopping over to one side.

"Okay, Emily, we're gonna get you fixed up, okay?" he said.

She nodded, not daring to take her eyes off of Sam. As one of the EMT's lifted Sam's stretcher into the back of the ambulance, the other was suddenly behind her, helping the first man to lift her onto the other stretcher.

As the second ambulance pulled into the driveway, she glanced back at Dean, who nodded at her. _Don't let Sammy die_. She was pushed into the ambulance beside Sam, the overhead medical cabinets looming ominously above her. A bright light was suddenly shining in her eyes, temporarily blinding her.

"Well, good news: you don't have a concussion," the first medic said cheerfully.

"Male, late twenties, head trauma. Signs of increasing intracranial pressure," the other medic said into his radio. _Intracranial pressure. Is it worse than a concussion? _

Sam's eyes suddenly shot open, and his back arched off the stretcher. The EMT that had been with her leaned over to help the other man hold Sam down.

"Yeah, he's seizing," the second man said into his radio. "Copy that. We're just pulling into Sioux Falls."

Her hand slipped from underneath the straps, reaching over to grab Sam's clenched fist. "Sammy," she muttered, scared for his life. "Sam, you made me promise not to leave you. Don't leave me, okay?" she sobbed.

She could feel her chest constrict, and Sam suddenly stopped seizing, collapsing back. One medic checked pulse while the other called it in on his radio. "Male has stopped seizing, appears to be stable."

"I got you, Sammy. I got you."

"Emily, you need to let go of him. We're gonna help him, okay?" her medic said, leaning over her.

"No, I have to go with him," she argued. "I'm not leaving his side."

"If you don't let go, we're gonna be forced to sedate you," he warned.

"I'm not leaving him!"

Before she could react there was a syringe in her arm, and her vision began to get fuzzy around the edges. "No, I'm not leaving Sam," she slurred.

"We're gonna take care of him, kid."

Her hand went limp as she closed her eyes.


	73. Chapter 73

"Emily. _Emily_," someone was hissing at her, trying to keep his voice down.

She groaned, turning away from the noise. "Emily." Dean's voice was much clearer now, and she tried to open her eyes, her vision blurry.

"Dea…?" She tried to reach out to him, but her arm would only go so far.

"They strapped you down to the bed. What the hell did you do?" he sounded amused as a weight suddenly lifted off of her legs.

"Wouldn't…Didn't wanna leave Slammy," she attempted, slurring her words.

"And they drugged you, too. Great."

The weight from her chest and arms was soon lifted as well, and Dean was helping her sit up. "I can't carry you, princess. Can you walk?"

She shook her head as if clearing water from her ears, and when she looked up at him, there was a new clarity in her vision. She saw that he was in his normal clothes, his jeans stretched over a huge plaster cast on his leg. "Hi…"

"Hi, princess. We gotta get out of her here, okay? The doctor's a Leviathan," he told her, stepping back from the bed, allowing her to get up.

"Levanthanon…right." She swung her legs out from under the covers. Her left leg was almost completely bruised, with white ace bandages wrapped around her ankle and her knee. There was also a large piece of gauze taped to her thigh.

"I got your clothes, princess. _We gotta go_."

"Yup, okey," she jumped of the bed, crumpling into a pile on the floor.

Dean cursed under his breath, bracing himself on one of his crutches and leaned down to pull her up by her armpit. "Ow," she whined, struggling to stand.

"Em. We gotta go, or we are gonna die," he growled.

That seemed to snap her further back into reality, and, once she was standing, she looked up at him. "Okmay."

"Sit on the bed, and let me help you get your pants on," he said.

With his help, she sat back down, and he pulled her pants on as quickly as possible, being cautious of her leg. Thankfully, she was still in her underwear. "You gotta bra on?" he asked, feeling her back. "Nope," he sighed.

"Here." He pulled Sam's sweatshirt over the hospital gown, but he didn't put her arms through her sleeves yet. Underneath the sweatshirt, he pulled the strings of her gown loose, swiftly pulling it off without seeing anything. With her shirt rolled up in his pocket, he swiftly helped her to her feet again, and they made their way to the door.

They moved together, supporting one and other from falling over, as they tried to walk to the ambulance bay. "Bobby's waiting for us, and we're gonna get out of here, okay princess?" he whispered to her as they stumbled through the halls.

She nodded, still a little out of it and not completely hearing what he said. They almost slipped a few times, catching each other before any real damage could be done. Mercifully, they were soon at the back entrance. As they got closer to the ambulance, another side door slammed open and an angry doctor with his nurse barged out. "Go, go, go, GO!" Dean yelled, pulling her along. Throwing the passenger door of an ambulance open, he threw in his crutch before climbing into the seat.

Emily squeaked as Dean quickly lifted her into his lap, shutting the door behind him. As soon as Bobby heard the door slam closed, he sped out of the parking lot, leaving two very angry Leviathans in their wake.

"Bobby," Emily smiled, more joyful than any sane person had a right to be in her situation.

"Hey, kid. How you holding up?" he asked, pulling a sharp turn.

"Hhiii…" she drawled, opening her mouth as if her tongue was something foreign to her.

Bobby stared at her for a moment, before turning to look at Dean. "Is she okay?"

"They drugged her and strapped her down. Apparently, she wouldn't let Sammy go," Dean sighed.

At Sam's name, she spun around in Dean's lap, staring at them. Dean hissed as her leg hit his broken one, but she didn't notice. "Where's Sammy?"

"Sam's in the back. He's fine," Bobby said.

She regarded him carefully for a moment before apparently deciding that he was telling the truth. Dean yelled in pain as she turned back around, hitting his leg again. "You gotta go easy, okay, princess?" he panted.

She sighed, giving no indication that she heard him. Leaning back into his chest, she closed her eyes. "They _really_ drugged her," Bobby commented.

"Buttfly," she moaned, turning her head into Dean's shoulder. She sighed heavily again, drifting off into unconsciousness.

"Yeah. They _really_ drugged her."

When she awoke, she was still a little groggy, and it took her a moment to take in her surroundings. She was laying on an old, leather couch covered in a Native American looking blanket. The old television was on, transmitting something in Spanish, and the screen was flickering slightly. Something squishy was moving beneath her.

She tried to twist around, but an arm wrapped around her waist, preventing her from moving. "Hey, princess," Dean's voice whispered.

"Hey," she mumbled, relaxing into him. "Where's Sam?"

"Sammy's okay, he's in one of the bedrooms, sleeping it off. Bobby's in town, getting some food," he told her.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He chuckled lightly underneath her. "Yeah, princess, I'm fine. Just broke my leg. Bobby's fine too," he said before she could ask.

She stretched out above him, flinching at the sudden pain in her leg. "You okay?" he asked immediately.

"Y-yeah," she took a breath, waiting for the pain to ease slightly. "Did I break anything?"

"No, I grabbed your chart before we left. You sprained your ankle and your knee, and you have a nasty gash on your thigh. All in all, you came out pretty good. How are your wings?" he asked.

"Not gonna lie, they're a little sore," she admitted.

"Want me to look?" he asked.

She hesitated. "If you want."

"Can you sit up?"

"Not now," she muttered, yawning and tilting her head into his neck.

"Why?" She could feel his throat vibrate.

"I don't think I'm wearing a bra…" it was more of a question than a statement.

She could feel him tense slightly beneath her. "About that…nothing happened, but you weren't wearing a bra under your hospital gown, so I put Sammy's sweatshirt on you and took the gown off underneath."

"Oh. Okay." She paused, a though suddenly hitting her. "Where are we?"

"One of Rufus's safe houses, up in Montana," he replied. "Why don't you get some more sleep, princess, and we can talk later."

"Okay," she mumbled, her eyes fluttering closed. "Don't go."

"I'll be right here, princess. I got you."


	74. Chapter 74

The nightmare was different tonight. It wasn't the one that she had grown familiar with over the years, the distraught faces of Sam and Dean in the car as it drove away.

_Sam and Dean were their current ages, and Bobby and Balthazar were standing beside them. She couldn't tell where she was; the only saw the disappointed and angry faces of all four of her family. _

_"But why?" she was saying, trying to hold back her tears. _

_"Why _not_?" Bobby shot back. "You're completely useless. I only took you in because I owed Mary a favor. I gave up the rest of my life for you, raising you as my own, and for what? You hack like an eight year old, and your guardian angel powers…I mean _really_?"_

_"You can't even protect Sam, your original charge," Dean sneered. "He sacrificed himself to _Satan_, and now he's having _hallucinations of Lucifer_. And there's nothing you can do!"_

_Sam spoke up, his voice deceivingly gentle. "I could be dying right now, and you're so weak that you can't help me."_

_"What kind of guardian are you, letting my brother fight Castiel in his state?" Dean asked, his voice sharp. "And Balthazar?! You should have been keeping an eye on him, too."_

_Balthazar's steely blue-grey eyes were trained on her as he spoke. "After everything I've done for you…the one time I needed you to have my back…and where were you? Chained to a bed because you were too weak to fight. And Gabriel?" he laughed. "It was an entire year, and you didn't even know he was practically dead. My death…it's your fault, Emily. " He paused, gesturing to the three men, "This…this is _all_ on you."_

_"Get out," Dean ordered. _

_"But wh–"_

_"I don't care where you go, what you do. I want you out of our lives. You've screwed it up enough."_

_"No, please!" she called out, but the floor had already disappeared from beneath her feet. Her breath caught in her throat as she fell, unable to scream._

With a thud, she fell off the couch, her breath coming in short gasps. Something was constricting her chest, and she couldn't breathe properly.

She vaguely registered Dean dropping to the floor in front of her, gently wiping at her tears and mumbling something in her ear. The only thing she could hear was her own heartbeat. She could feel herself trembling and her stomach tying itself into knots. The room was closing in on her, and she couldn't think strait.

Dean pulled her into his chest, trying to sooth her by rubbing circles into her back and stroking the hair from her face. In a couple of minutes, her panic began to ebb, and she could make out what Dean was saying if she concentrated. "Focus on my voice, princess. I got you. You're gonna be okay."

Her head was buried in his shoulder, and she could feel her clothes begin to stick to her skin. Her hair was drenched in sweat, but Dean didn't seem to mind as he continued to gently pull it away from her face. She could feel his hand linger on Gabriel's feather's, and his voice broke off.

"He meant a lot to you, didn't he." The way Dean spoke, it was more of a statement than a question. "I guess I never really knew…I watched you grow up, my baby sister, but he was there, too. And Balthazar. I'm sorry I didn't see how much they meant to you sooner. Probably could've saved you a lot of grief. They're family to you, just as much as Bobby, Sam and me. And I guess that makes them my family, too. If you can hear me, princess, I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."

Her breathing had steading significantly, but she didn't trust herself enough to speak yet. Instead, she moved to wrap her arms around his neck, nuzzling her face further into his shoulder like a child. "I'm here, princess," her muttered, rubbing her back.

"I'm sorry, Dean," she choked.

"No, Em–"

"I'm sorry I can't protect Sam, I'm sorry I'm not strong enough, I'm sorry that I haven't talked to you more, that I ran away, that I shut you out, that I couldn't protect Sam from Lucifer, that I froze in Oregon, that I'm a freak of nature, that I wanted to kill myself, that I put you in danger just by being around you–"

"Emily, stop." She flinched, grimacing into his shirt. "Where the hell is this coming from?" She began to tremble again, and he tightened his grip on her, trying to reassure her. "Em, talk to me."

She swallowed, trying to control her voice. "I…I had a dream. You didn't want me. No-nobody did. I'm too weak, I can't fight, my hacks are bad…I didn't know Gabriel was gone until a _year_ after it happened. I mean, who does that?"

"Emily, I'm always gonna want you. I'm always gonna need you, princess. You're not weak; you're one of the strongest people I've ever met. Even if you can't fight now, we can fix it, get you back in shape again. As for not talking to me, we can work on that if you want to. I'm always going to be here. It doesn't matter to me if you can't protect Sam. I just need to make sure you can protect yourself. Are you hearing me, princess?"

She nodded, her silent tears soaking through his shirt. "As for putting me in danger," he continued, "I couldn't give a rat's ass if there was a gun to my head every time I saw you. And if you ever feel like you want to kill yourself, come and find me. I'm always gonna be here. What am I missing…" he paused, going back through what she had told him. "Your hacks are some of the most impressive things that I've ever seen, and it wasn't your fault that you didn't know Gabriel was gone. How could you? Princess, none of this is one you, and we all love you. Bobby, Sam, Balthazar, Gabriel, all of us. And, baby, that's never gonna change."

Her arms tightened around his neck as she cried. She didn't realize that what he said was exactly what she needed to hear. He loved her. They all did. No matter what kind of freak she was. "I love you," she sobbed into his shoulder.

"I know, princess. I know. And I'm not going anywhere." He held on to her until he felt her push against his shoulders trying to get up. His leg broken leg was stretched out beneath the coffee table, and his other leg was bent around her on the floor. "You okay?"

She nodded hastily, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Thank you," her voice cracked.

"You don't need to thank me for this," he said, rubbing her back. "I'm your brother. It's what I do." His comment earned him a smile from her, and his face lit up in response. "You should eat."

"Shower first," she mumbled, brushing back her sweat soaked hair.

"Okay," he agreed. "Let me stand up first, and I'll help you, okay?"

She shook her head, moving to get up on her own. She pushed up against the coffee table, but the moment she tried to put any weight on her leg, she collapsed, whining in pain. Dean caught her in his arms, trying desperately to keep her knee from hitting the floor. "Like I said," he grunted. "Let me get up first."

She nodded, carefully moving off him until he was able to push himself up onto the couch. Once he was stable, he reached out to her. As he helped pull her up by her armpits, she tried to get her good leg stabilized beneath her until she was finally standing.

"Thanks," she breathed, continuing to hold on to him for balance.

"Take my crutches, and when you get out of the shower I can reapply your bandages and check your wings," he told her.

She agreed, carefully moving to reach his crutches at the end of the couch. It was a little awkward, as he was so much taller than her (and so were his crutches), but she was able to make it across the hall where a steamy shower awaited her.


	75. Chapter 75

In theory, their plan was fine. In reality, however, it proved to be extremely difficult for Emily. Trying to shower while standing on one leg was harder than she had anticipated, especially when she was trying to keep the water out of the stitching on her thigh. She slipped several times, just barely catching herself or twisting the right way at the perfect moment so that she wouldn't further injure her leg.

When she was finally able to step out of the shower, she tripped again, reaching her hands out just in time to prevent her head meeting the edge of the counter. All in all, she was pretty frustrated with herself, and the experience gave her a new hatred for Leviathan.

Half an hour later, she stepped out of the bathroom, her hair damp and neatly brushed, wearing one of her T-shirts (which had been dwindling in number) and a pair of Dean's boxers. Her arms were laden with medical supplies which she dropped into Dean's lap. "Hey princess. Feel better?" he asked.

She nodded, carefully steading herself on the arm of the couch before limping back to the bathroom. "Where are you going?" Dean called after her.

"Get your crutches," she responded.

Her way back to the couch was much faster with Dean's crutches, and she leaned them on the couch where he could easily reach them. "Alright, princess. Let me see your leg." He hesitated. "Why are you wearing my boxers?"

"I don't have any shorts," she grunted, sitting down on the couch opposite him, "and I was not coming out here in my underwear."

"Fair enough." He helped her lift her leg into his lap, and she winced slightly as her knee bent. His fingers were gently and extremely carefully as he wrapped her ankle as tight as he dared before moving up to her knee where a dark bruise was blossoming under her skin.

She winced at his lightest touch and asked, "You sure I didn't break anything?"

"I'm sure," he muttered, grimacing for her as he began wrapping her knee. "They did x-rays."

She groaned in pain, dropping her head back, desperately trying to focus on her breathing. Dean was quick about it, and he was finished faster than she had expected, hesitantly moving to her thigh. She flinched at the unexpected low temperature of the ointment, but Dean was careful. The third wrap on her leg was applied just as quickly as the rest, holding the gauze securely in place.

"Okay, princess. Let me see your wings." He helped her up, cautious of her leg. "Why don't you sit on the coffee table so I can see?" he suggested.

She nodded, slowly moving to the opposite side of the table, giving Dean access to her back. Pulling her shirt over her head, she tried to ignore the protest of her sore muscles. Dean's breath hitched as her shirt dropped to her lap, and he hesitantly touched her side. "Kid, what happened?"

In addition to the numerous cuts on her back from the fight with Castiel, a deep, purple bruise covered her rib cage, spreading from her hip to below her armpit. The skin was broken in several places, and it looked like it should be extremely painful. It surprised her that she hadn't noticed until now. "Dunno. He jumped me, knocked my head into the ground, and I passed out."

Dean suppressed the rage and unsettling guilt in his gut, opting to focus his efforts on Emily instead. "Okay," he said quietly.

She bit her lip and unfurled her wings behind her, trying not to hit Dean in the face. She could feel the dirt in her wings, and she gently shook them, dislodging a few chunks of Earth, listening to it thump onto the carpet. The bandages that Sam had applied were stained brown, and most were torn and hanging down. "Jesus," Dean muttered, unsure of where to start.

"That bad?" she chuckled humorlessly, an underlying tone of fear lacing her voice.

Dean wasn't sure how to respond as he took in the disheveled sight of broken feathers. The front door suddenly slammed open, and she jumped, instinctively snapping her wings back into ink. When Bobby stepped into the room, she immediately relaxed, trying to will away the adrenaline rush. "Easy," Dean mumbled, his hand lingering on her hip for a moment. "Hey, Bobby," he said, waving to him.

"Em, you're up," he seemed surprised, giving her a once over. As he took in the sight of her, shirtless and sitting on a table in front of Dean, his eyebrows knitted together. "What's going on?"

"Trying to fix her wings," Dean quickly answered, trying to expel any other ideas from Bobby's head. "I'm, uh…not to well versed in how to do this."

Recognition and empathy crossed Bobby's features before he made his was over, sitting on the couch by Dean. "I've helped a few times," he said. "The angels walked us through it."

She hesitantly spread her wings again, listening to more dirt sprinkle onto the floor. Bobby didn't speak for a while, raking his eyes over the disaster in front of him. "Okay," he finally began, "I'll grab a towel, for the floor, and we'll get you cleaned up, kid."

She nodded, even though he was already walking out of the room. "How you holding up, Em?" Dean muttered. She nodded again before finding her voice, "Good…Can I…can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," he insisted.

"Last night, or whenever it was…where did Sam go? He told me about his hallucinations, but…I don't know, just, is he okay?" she fumbled.

Dean hesitated, collecting his thoughts. "Yes, Sam had a hallucination last night about me driving him to a warehouse. He has a trick now for telling what's real versus what's in his head, and he told me that being around you seems to help. When we got back to the house, and he saw it had burnt down, he flipped a little–"

"Wait, the house?" she interrupted.

"Yeah, the house burnt down. Y-you didn't see that?" he asked.

She must've gotten tunnel vision when she saw Sam's body. That was dangerous, especially with their job. She'd have to keep an eye on that.

Bobby walked in, giant towel in hand, and she was saved from responding to Dean. They spread the towel down on the floor behind her before she felt Bobby gently grip one of her wings. She couldn't help but flinch slightly, not expecting the touch. Bobby didn't comment on it, but he began to spread apart her feathers, carefully cleaning out the dirt. After a moment of watching her uncle work, Dean stared on her other wing, gently brushing away the grime.

She had begun to relax, getting used to their touch, when a voice spoke up behind her. "What's going on?"

Startled, she jerked her wings away from the two men, immediately pulling them back into ink. "It's just Sam," Dean told her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She twisted around, wincing slightly at the new pain in her side as she took in the sight of Sam's disheveled appearance. His hair was sticking up everywhere, and it looked like he had slept for a week. To her, he was beautiful.

"You're up," she smiled.

"Yeah," he mumbled, trying to smooth down his hair. "What's going on?"

"You passed out when the Leviathan hit you," Dean explained, "and, while I called 911, Em dragged herself over to you across three piles of cars, busted knee and all. Stayed with you in the ambulance, too. They had to sedate her just so she'd let go of you."

Sam stared at her, an unreadable expression crossing his face, and she bit her lip, hating all the attention. "Thank you," he said quietly. She could tell he meant it with everything he had.

She smiled, continuing to look up at him. Dean spoke up, "Bobby and I were trying to fix her wings and get the dirt out. You wanna join the party?"

"Okay."


	76. Chapter 76

It was an odd sight out of context, the three men sitting knee to knee on an old couch, bent over a short girl, never mind the fact that she had wings.

She could feel the faint pain of Sam's guilt while he worked, but she tried to ignore it the best she could. With the younger Winchester's help, her wings were soon free of dirt, and the towel beneath her had turned brown. "Let me get a washcloth, and we can bandage you up again, okay?" Bobby told her. She nodded her agreement.

Sam's hands never really left her wings, as he continued to casually run his fingers through her feathers. "I'm sorry I left you," he muttered softly. "I thought you'd be okay."

She opened her mouth to answer, but Bobby's footsteps cut her off as he walked back into the room. Her wing jerked, and she hissed in pain as the wet washcloth made contact with her raw skin. Bobby wouldn't let go, only held her wing still while he worked, cleaning the dirt from Balthazar's immaculate stitching. "Hang on, kid," he muttered, moving to the next wound. Eventually, he passed the washcloth to Dean, who copied Bobby's movements on her other wing. A pitiful whine escaped her lips as Dean pressed the cloth to an open wound near her joint.

"Bobby, the stitches ripped," Dean told him, sounding slightly panicked.

"I'll go get the needle," He said, getting up again. Sam gently pulled the hair from her face, gathering it in the crook of her back where her wings fused with skin. He traced the outline of her bone as it merged with her back, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.

Bobby soon returned, passing the supplies over to Dean. "My hands aren't steady enough to do stiches anymore. Haven't been able to do a neat line in years."

Dean hesitated, threading the needle, before giving it to Sam. "I can't reach. Gimp leg." In truth, he didn't trust himself enough with her. He's already screwed up enough.

"You want me to do it?" Sam asked incredulously.

"You've got the steadiest hands here, Sam," Bobby told him.

"But–"

"Would one of you shut up and do it?" Emily snapped.

She could hear Sam swallow as he leaned forward on the couch, bent over her wing. Dean moved to hold it in place while Sam's fingers hesitantly reached down. "Come on, Sammy," she encouraged quietly. "It's no different than working on Dean."

He took a breath, before finally finding the resolve to do it. Her wing jerked slightly, and she squeezed her eyes shut at the stab of pain. Dean's grip was solid, and Sam continued to work, although she could feel the guilt pouring off him in waves. Just as Dean had worked on her knee, Sam stitched quickly and skillfully, trying not to elongate her pain more than was necessary.

She felt him tie it off, bending down to carefully rip the thread with his teeth. "There," he muttered. "Dean, do you have gauze?"

Dean handed him the supplies, and she jumped at the unexpected, cool touch of the ointment against the stitches. They carefully wrapped every wound, making sure it was secure. "Thank you," she said wholeheartedly when Sam had announced that they were finished, and she slipped her shirt back over her head.

"Any time, kid," Dean grunted, falling back into the pillows.

"Anyone hungry?" Bobby asked, making his way into the kitchen.

Sam eyed her carefully, and she thought it was best to say, "Sure. What do you have?"

"Unless you want Rufus's C-rations in the basement, I got beans, hot dogs, and that crappy mac and cheese," he answered.

"Oo, mac and cheese," she grinned, moving to get up.

Before she could stand, Sam was in front of her, helping her to her feet. "Thanks, Sammy," she muttered, leaning on him for support. She didn't see the teasing look Dean gave Sam over her head, or the pointed glare that Sam shot back.

He helped her onto a bar stool in the kitchen, making sure she was comfortable before going to help Bobby cook. "What, no help for me, Sammy?" Dean called as he ambled into the kitchen on both crutches.

"Shaddup," Sam grumbled, pouring the macaroni into the boiling water.

Emily grinned up at the older Winchester as he took a seat beside her, leaning the crutches against the table. "Hey, princess," he grunted, smiling at her.

They battled each other in thumb wars while the other two prepared the food. When Dean had gotten tired of Emily continuously beating him despite the large difference in thumb height, they began to bang on the table, chanting, "Mac and cheese. Mac and cheese. Mac and cheese." She quickly joined him despite Sam's annoyed groan.

"Oh dear lord, you're like two children," Bobby complained, handing over two steaming bowls of the cheesy macaroni to Sam, who, in turn, slid them across the table to their greedy hands.

As she ate, Emily noticed something sticking painfully into her hip; she reached into her pocket pulling out a folded square of paper. "What's that?" Dean asked through a mouthful of macaroni.

"Balthazar's letter," she muttered. "Forgot I had it."

In her peripheral vision, she could see Sam freeze in the kitchen, unsure of how she would react, especially given her mental state last night.

"You gonna read it?" Dean asked, shoving another spoonful into his mouth, unaware of her conversation with Sam.

She hesitated, staring down at it for a moment. She wasn't filled with the fight or flight instinct like she had been last night with Sam, but there was still a twinge of fear in her chest. "Later," she answered, shoving it back in her pocket, trying to ignore the way it dug into her skin.

"So," Sam broke the tension. "How long are we supposed to stay here?"

"Till these two can fight," Bobby said, gesturing to Emily and Dean with his wooden spoon. "The Leviathan know what we look like, and we're on their hit list now. We research, and we hide until we got something that we can use."

"Yeah, but how long until my leg heals?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Usually about six or seven weeks," Sam told him.

Dean choked on his food, quickly reaching for the glass of water Sam held out to him. Emily grimaced, bracing herself for the inevitable outburst. Sure enough, as soon as Dean had cleared his throat, he shouted, "SIX WEEKS?! Sammy, I'm not staying in backwoods-frickin'-nowhere Montana for _six frigin' weeks_."

"Quit whining," Bobby growled, hovering over a pot of beans on the stove.

"Six weeks, Bobby! I need my baby," Dean groaned, running his hands through his hair.

"I'll go find your car if you shut up," the older man snapped.

Dean immediately closed him mouth and nodded vehemently. This was going to be a long six weeks.


	77. Chapter 77

"Son of a bitch," she gasped, thumping onto the floor and jarring her knee.

Dean immediately pulled his gun, bolting upright on the couch. "What's wrong?"

"Sammy," she panted, rolling onto her back, gently pressing a hand over her knee. "Go get Sam."

He was off the couch in a second, hobbling through the hallways as fast as he could, heading for Sam's room. They were watching the Spanish network last night, as it was the only one with reception, but they had lost track of time, falling asleep. Sam had apparently let them be, eventually retiring to bed himself.

As she began to lift herself off the floor, a terrified yell shocked her, and she fell back to the floor with a thud. She cursed under her breath, pulling herself up again until she was perched on the couch, her leg stretched in front of her. "Emily," Dean called from down the hall, just loud enough for her to hear but quiet enough not to wake Bobby.

"Coming," she called back, shakily getting to her feet. She carefully hopped her way to Sam's door, almost slamming into Dean as he suddenly rounded the corner.

"Jesus, I was just coming to get you," he said, clearly startled.

"Is he okay?" she asked immediately.

Dean hesitated. "Yeah, he'll be fine. I got him to calm down a bit."

She frowned, pushing past him into Sam's room. The younger Winchester was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands. His hair was damp with sweat, and his shirt stuck to his heaving chest. "Sammy?" she asked quietly.

His head shot up as he registered her voice. His eyes were bloodshot, and his pupils were dilated. He rushed at her, pulling her into a tight hug. She could feel the fear rolling off him in waves, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. "What happened, Gigantor?"

"Nightmare," he mumbled, his voice weak.

"You want me to stay?" she asked carefully, rubbing his back.

He nodded, holding her a little tighter.

"Okay. Why don't you get back in bed?" He nodded again, hesitantly pulling away from her. As he stepped back, he frowned, looking down at his pants. There was a dark patch of blood staining his sweatpants, slowly dripping down his leg. "Sam, what happened? Are you hurt?" she asked immediately.

He shook his head, his eyes moving to her leg. "You are. Your stitches must have ripped."

"Em, sit down, and I'll got get some clean supplies. Keep some pressure on it, understand me?" Dean ordered.

She opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it when she met Dean's piercing gaze. Instead, she nodded, limping over to the edge of the bed with the aid of Sam's arm. "Dean said you knew I was having a nightmare. Was…was I that loud?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"No, Sam, I–" she broke off, unsure of how to finish her sentence. "I don't know, I just knew you were in trouble. Must be my freak side."

"Em–" Sam was about to go off on her, but Dean burst through the door, first aid kit in hand.

They helped her maneuver her let so it laid flat on the bed, giving them access to her thigh. Sam reached for her, but Dean smacked his hand away. "Let me help, Dean," he growled.

"No, your hands are shaking," he pointed out. "I got it."

Emily frowned, pulling one of Sam's giant hands toward her. He was trembling slightly, and she looked up at him, worry evident in her features. "I'm fine," he reassured, a faint anger in his eyes. Dean opened his mouth, but Sam snapped at him, "Shut up, Dean. _I'm fine_."

She rubbed a thumb over his hand, pulling his attention back to her quiet smile. He frowned, trying to figure out why she seemed happy. "Can I braid your hair?"

Sam's eyes widened in shock, and he looked a Dean for support, who just shrugged. "After you let me work on your leg," Dean answered for him.

"Cool," she grinned, pulling Sam toward the bed. He settled behind her, letting her lean against him while Dean began to work.

Thankfully, she was wearing a pair of Dean's sweatpants, and he was able to easily roll up the fabric past the bloodied bandage. He carefully unwrapped the fabric, exposing the soaked piece of gauze. "Yeah, you ripped the stitches," he muttered, peeling back the last layer. "Only two, so I can just butterfly it, and it should be fine."

"Oops," she smiled sheepishly, handing him a butterfly bandage from the first aid kit on the bed.

Dean glared at her for a second before carefully taking the white strip, reaching for a damp washcloth instead of applying it. He was careful of the amount of pressure, but the blood was soon gone from around the wound, and he carefully stuck the adhesive bandage to her thigh. A double layer of clean gauze was next, before he securely wrapped it in a new bandage.

"How's your knee? I heard you land on it," Dean said, looking up at her.

"It's fine. Look, it's three in the morning. The rest of it can wait," she yawned.

"So there _is_ something else," he said, pulling at the bandage around her knee.

"No, Dean, that's not what I meant," she sighed in frustration, thudding her head back against Sam's chest. She could feel him chuckle slightly, running fingers through her hair. As Dean's fingers began to prod at her knee, she jumped, biting her tongue in pain. "Damit, Dean, would you leave it alone?"

"Em–"

"You put that wrap on right now and leave me alone or so help me God I will wreck your car," she growled.

"Easy, tiger," Sam muttered, holding onto her waist.

She could see the mental debate raging in Dean's eyes, and she set her jaw, telling him that her threat stood. "Em–" she glared down at him "–I would rather have a healthy you and a wrecked baby than a wrecked you and a perfect baby."

That caught her by surprise, and her gaze immediately softened. Dean took his opportunity and began exploring her knee again. She flinched, every muscle in her body tightening at the pain. "This looks really swollen. I'm gonna have Sam or Bobby take you for an x-ray tomorrow," Dean sighed, finally beginning to wrap the bandage over her knee.

"I don't need–" Dean's glare stopped her in her tracks, and she sighed, leaning her head back against Sam. "Fine. Whatever."

"You're such a teenager," the older Winchester complained, tying off the bandage.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm twenty nine, moron."

Dean's fingers faltered as he tied off the bandage, and he looked up at her. "Really?"

"Yeah. Two years younger than you," she raised an eyebrow.

"Jesus," he muttered, beginning to back up the medical supplies. "When did we get so old?"

"God knows where it went," Sam sighed.

Emily stared through her knee, as if she wasn't really present in the room. "I sent half my life looking for you. Sometimes, it's like I don't even remember…just the confusion and the pain before Gabe–" she broke off, still staring into space. Sam and Dean shared a look over her head, and the younger brother carefully pulled her further onto the bed. She seemed to snap out of it, and climbed under the overs with him.

"You guys gonna be okay?" Dean asked, gathering the supplies into his arms.

"We're good," Sam answered, turning to look at her.

They heard Dean close the door behind him, and she gave Sam a small smile. "Well, I'm here now. No more nightmares."

"Emily," he began carefully. "I want to thank you…for everything."

"It's my job, Gigantor."

He opened his mouth to fight back, but she cut him off, "It's my job…as a sister."

A small smiled tugged at his lips, and he pulled her into a gentle hug, careful of her leg. "Thank you."


	78. Chapter 78

The kitchen door slammed, and Sam's head shot up from where he had been buried in a newspaper. Emily abruptly dropped Dean's crutches by the couch, where he lay watching the Spanish channel. She hobbled over to the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water with shaking hands.

"Em…" Sam asked quietly.

She dropped the glass in the sink, turning her glare on him. Sam was immensely grateful that Rufus had invested in a rubber mesh; otherwise, the glass would have shattered. "I need to kill something, Sam," she snapped. "Is that a newspaper?"

He quickly nodded. "Find me something to kill," she ordered, hobbling into his bedroom as quickly and as fiercely as she was able.

As she collapsed onto the bed, she could hear the kitchen door creak open, and Bobby shutting it behind him. "What the hell, Bobby?" Dean hissed from the couch.

"Severe hairline fracture in her knee. A brace and six weeks," he said gravely, holding up a CVS bag.

"Why isn't she wearing the brace?" Sam asked.

"Really, Sam?" Bobby raised his eyebrows. "A Leviathan – hell, _God_ couldn't get that thing on her."

"Touché," Sam muttered.

"I got it," Dean grunted, and she could hear the clank of the crutches as he stood up.

"You're gonna get your fool head ripped off," Bobby told him.

Dean sighed, "Just give me the damn bag."

"Okay." It was clear Bobby thought it was a bad idea, but he handed over the plastic bag all the same.

The older Winchester thumped down the hallway, until he finally stopped at her door. "Princess? You in there?"

"Piss off."

The door knob rattled, but she had locked it, although that really wasn't adequate protection against a Winchester. Dean pulled a pin from his pocket, and the lock quickly snapped open. "Hey, kid," he pushed the door open.

"What do you want?" she growled. The door shut behind him, and Dean made his way over to the bed, leaning his crutches against the mattress before sitting down with a groan, throwing the plastic bag onto the bed. "I'm not wearing that."

"Yes you are."

"Dean–"

"Worst case scenario."

"What?"

"Tell me the worst case scenario of what could happen if you wore the brace." Dean's eyes bore into hers as she stared back.

She hesitated, her jaw clenched in anger. "A Leviathan finds us, and I can't protect you."

"Now, you want to know the worst case scenario if you _don't_ wear the brace?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Before she had the chance to respond, he continued, "You knee heals wrong, and you can't protect us anyway. Except that would be a little more permanent than six weeks."

Knowing that he had her beat, Emily refused to respond. "Come on, Em," he pushed. "Bobby and I can go and get your car, if you want. The Challenger?"

"No," she immediately said, grabbing the brace from the bed. "Don't touch my car, and I'll wear the damn thing."

A sly smirk was the only sign of Dean's triumph as he helped her pull her leg onto the bed and carefully pulled the brace over her knee. "This is gonna be the crapiest six weeks I've had in a long time," she grumbled.

"Same," he grunted, tightening the brace. "You wanna come out and get something to eat?"

"Piss off," she grunted, although with less malice as before, as she tried to sooth away the pain in her knee with her hands. "How's Sam been doing?"

He sighed. "I saw him get a little tense after you left, so I'm assuming he saw something." Dean hesitated, "You should know…the night you got attacked by the Leviathan, I followed Sam to a warehouse, and I talked him off the ledge. He uses the cut on his hands from the fight with Castiel to ground him in reality. The pain…I don't know, helps him focus or something. Thought you'd need to know that if anything – if we get separated or something – a-and you can't get him back on your own."

"Thanks," she muttered, unsure of how to respond.

"Good. Now get in the damn kitchen and let Sam make you something to eat. The Mexican show's on, and I think Maria's gettin' left at the altar," he grunted, moving to stand up.

"I told you that Jose was a scumbag," she grinned, looking up at him.

"Yeah, yeah," he brushed it off. "Whatever. Just get in there."

"I'll be in there in a sec." Dean frowned, opening his mouth before she cut him off, "I'll be fine. I'm not taking the brace off, and I'm not gonna hurt myself. Just give me a minute."

He hesitated. "Okay. Five minutes, and I'm dragging your ass out there."

"Deal," she smiled, watching him reluctantly closing the door behind him as he left.

"Gabriel," she muttered, closing her eyes. "I know…I know I screwed up…I screwed up really bad. I just–" She rolled her eyes, staring up at the ceiling. "Jesus, I haven't prayed in a while. I, uh…I need your help. I know I don't deserve it, and I know…"

She groaned in frustration, running her hands through her hair. "Gabe, I can't do this on my own. I've never been able to. You and Balthazar–" she broke off again, clearing her throat. She wondered where angels went when they died, and where her angels were now. Absently running her fingers through her hair, she hit Gabriel's feathers, and her eyes widened. Everything she put them both through, and now she was asking for _more_, even when Gabriel probably could barely function. "You know what? Never mind. Thank you…for everything."

She carefully slipped off the bed, hobbling to the door. If Dean could do this, so could she. She had to, for them. And for her angels. She capable of doing this on her own; she had to be. "I'm good," she sighed, and her face nullified her words.


	79. Chapter 79

**_Four years ago_**

"No, the black one is so much better – it's authentic!" Emily argued, a thick string of licorice hanging from the corner of her mouth.

"The red one is so much sweeter though. When it comes to flavor, there is absolutely _no_ comparison," Gabriel shot back, ripping of a section of red licorice with his teeth.

"Honestly, you two. It's just sugar." Gabriel and Emily immediately stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Balthazar," Emily hissed, her eyes wide.

The angel turned around, unaware that the other two had stopped walking. "What?"

"Brother, we are in the candy capitol of the word," Gabriel lifted his arms to the sky. "Chicago, baby! You can't blaspheme like that here."

Balthazar held his hands up in surrender, raising his eyebrows. "Okay, okay. You two are insane."

Emily sighed, shaking her head. "He just doesn't understand the appeal."

"Nope," Gabriel sighed dramatically, taking her arm in his.

Balthazar rolled his eyes, falling back into step with them. Emily and Gabriel shared a smirk, before Gabriel tensed, significantly slowing his pace. A moment later, Balthazar did the same, spinning around to face the opposite direction. "What is it?" Emily asked, looking over her shoulder.

A dark man in a black leather jacket stood in the center of the sidewalk, twenty feet behind them. A deep sense of foreboding filled her gut, and she instinctively reached out for Gabriel's hand, only to flinch away. The archangel's skin was buzzing with electricity, and there was a fire in his eyes which was reminiscent of the first night she met him, when her breath caught at his profile glowing in the firelight. Balthazar stepped forward, his angel blade grasped tightly in his hand. His jaw was set as he stared down the lone figure, and his eyes conveyed the threat of the entirety of his angelic power.

"So this is the infamous disgrace." The man's voice was deep and piercing as an angel blade dropped from his sleeve into his waiting hand.

In an instant, Gabriel's archangel blade was in his hand, and she could see the fury in his eyes grow. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as the air around them began to crackle in the wake of Gabriel's power.

The dark angel gave her a careful once-over from head to toe before a malicious sneer spread across his face, and he spit on the ground, never taking his eyes from her. In an instant, Gabriel was a golden blur streaking toward the strange angel, and Balthazar's hand was on her shoulder, sending her to safety before the shockwave of Gabriel's power could reach her.

The next second, she was standing in the middle of a forest, next to a small stream. It reminded her of their cabin in northern Montana, but she had no way to be sure of where she was. In the moments it took her to adjust to her new surroundings, the angels appeared on the other side of the stream, immediately capturing her attention.

Balthazar was standing before the archangel, attempting to hold him back, one hand stretched out in front of him. Gabriel, on the other hand, was still clutching his angel blade in furry, the unwavering fire raging in his eyes. His six great wings were colossal shadows behind him, a sparking electricity traveling throughout the translucent feathers. They were much larger than when he had first showed her in Paris, stretching further than she could measure accurately with her eyes. The air separating her from Gabriel, even across the stream, was charged and unstable, and she could feel the hair on the back of her neck rise.

"Gabriel, stop," Balthazar was telling him, not daring to press his hand against the archangel's chest. She noticed that the birds had grown silent in the presence of his power.

Gabriel's features were contorted with his rage, and Emily, for the first time, was able to see the true meaning of angels as the warriors of heaven. And she was terrified.

Balthazar had been saying something to Gabriel, but he wasn't responding. Becoming anxious, Balthazar raised his arm, gesturing toward Emily. She froze as the antagonized archangel's gaze fell on her, and a spark of fear shot up her back.

She watched his features soften slightly before he turned back to Balthazar. He opened his mouth to say something, only to close it again, changing his mind. He growled in frustration, disappearing before her eyes. The overwhelming blanket of power that had fallen across the forest was immediately lifted, and the birds hesitantly began to chirp again. Emily turned her fearful gaze to Balthazar, who ran a tired hand across his face.

"I…" he sighed. "He'll be fine. Just…stay here, and I'll be back."

Before she had a chance to respond, Balthazar had gone, leaving her alone amongst the trees.

Eventually, the sun made its slow journey behind the trees, and the crickets began to overtake the sounds of the birds. Emily had long since discarded her shoes on the bank of the stream, and was now wrapping her sweatshirt tighter around herself as the air grew cooler. When the sun dipped behind the horizon so there was a tint of light blue amongst the dark sky and the fireflies began their mating dance around the water, Gabriel appeared on the opposite bank with a quiet rustle of fathers.

Her head shot up to stare at him, and he cautiously looked back with guilty eyes. "Gabriel?" Her voice was quiet and hesitant, still fearful of the immense power that he had inadvertently shown her earlier that day.

The archangel began to carefully walk toward her, across the stream. She wanted to look down to see if he was able to walk on water, but she couldn't gather the strength to tear her eyes away from his. When he was four feet away, an involuntary tremor of fear traveled up her spine, and he stopped, the guilt growing in his expression.

He opened his mouth to speak, only to close it once again. Before she knew what had happened, Gabriel's arms were wrapped around her waist, and his face was buried in her neck. She flinched, expecting the shock of his grace against her skin, but the electricity was gone. Her breath caught in her throat at his sudden show of affection, and she hesitated, unsure of how to react.

Timid at first, she moved her arms around his body, resting her hands against his back. His grip tightened, and she heard his breath hitch. Her arms, in turn, pulled him closer to her. She was so incredibly unsure of what their exchange meant and terrified of the side of him that was revealed earlier that day, but she somehow felt grounded in his arms in a way that she hadn't in years.

"Gabriel?"

_I'm sorry._ She could feel him swallow against her neck. _When he said that about you, I – and when he – _he stopped, swallowing again, trying to collect himself. _I couldn't think strait. I'm sorry._

The image of his furry filled her mind, and she rested her head against Gabriel's shoulder, trying to push away the fear. She knew there was no force in the universe that could get Gabriel to turn is anger toward her, but there was still the irrational terror in her gut. The archangel immediately felt her fear, and he tensed beneath her.

"I…" she took a shuddering breath, closing her eyes. "I trust you."

A powerful wave of unfamiliar emotions washed over her, and her knees buckled beneath her. She had enough presence of mind to realize that Gabriel was trusting her enough to show her what he was feeling. First, there was the ever-present guilt in the back of his mind, only now that had been doubled by his loss of control earlier that day. Then there was the anger, and she knew that was usually directed at his Father. Surprisingly, there was also a sense of gratitude and solace, mixed with shame and more guilt. There was fear in the back of his mind as well, and something told her that had always been there since he ran from heaven. It took her a moment to realize that there was serenity and optimism amongst the negative, and, as the emotions continued to grow deeper, they became brighter and more positive. There was joy and trust, awe and admiration, trust, pride, fascination, hope. In the center of everything, his entire being, was love. Just pure, unadulterated, simple, beautiful love.


	80. Chapter 80

**_Four years ago cont._**

_Gabriel slowly backed off, letting Emily find herself again. She realized that they were kneeling on the grass, the archangel still clinging to her and holding her upright. That feeling, that overwhelming love, consumed her mind. _

It's you.

What?_ She gently pushed back against Gabriel, needing to see his face. _

That love. It used to be empty_. He stared down at her, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. _I'm happy because of you.

_Her gaze fell of the crushed blades of grass between them, and she muttered, "I don't understand."_

When that rouge angel threatened you today, I…I couldn't do nothing. You mean too much to me._ When she looked up at him, his face confirmed that he was genuine, and she rested her head against his chest in an attempt to hide her tears. He gently pulled his fingers through her hair, drawing a shuddering breath from her. _

_In time, she relaxed against him, reveling in the feeling of Gabriel's hand in her hair. "Where's Balthazar?" she whispered._

He left for a week. His way of forcing me to sort this out with you_. _

_She smiled, "Yeah, that sounds like him."_

Look up.

_She craned her neck, staring up at the blanket of darkness above them, surprised to find that it was decorated with billions of tiny stars. A streak of light darted across the sky, and she immediately turned to Gabriel. "Did you see that?"_

_He only smiled, turning his gaze back toward the sky. _There's another._ Her head shot up in time to catch the tail of another meteor hurtle through the atmosphere. She couldn't help the giggle that escaped her mouth as she flopped onto her back, grass tickling her neck. Gabriel stretched out beside her, folding his arms beneath his head as he stared up at the sky. _

_Emily gently moved her leg until it brushed Gabriel's, needing some sort of contact with him to ensure he was still there, as he wasn't in her field of vision. The archangel couldn't help but smile, pressing his leg back into hers. _

**_Now_**

She stretched her arms over her head as the morning grogginess began to lift, and her eyes flickered open to see a concerned Sam Winchester leaning over her.

"_Jesus_," she flinched, adrenaline waking her up better than a shot of espresso ever could.

"Sorry," he smiled shyly. "I just…you were muttering in your sleep, and I got nervous."

She frowned, going over the memory in her head. "What did I say?"

"Something about Gabriel and candy," he told her. "Honestly, not surprising when you think about it. It's just…"

"What, Sam?"

He hesitated. "You…you said no a lot, and…and once, you said, 'I trust you.' So I-I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

She sighed, slumping back against the pillows. "Yeah, I'm good. Just remembering something. Did I wake you up?"

"No, you didn't. I just didn't feel like moving."

"Oh. How's your head?"

He cleared his throat. "Good. It's, uh, better with you."

"Good," she smiled slightly, her mind flashing back to the end of her dream.

"You know, we are going to be so spoiled when we go back to hunting…getting used to sleeping in like this," he groaned, collapsing into the pillows, draping an arm over his eyes.

"Yeah," she laughed, turning her head to look at him. "Don't you usually get up at quarter-to-God-knows-when?"

"Eh. Depends."

"On what?"

He opened his mouth only shut it again and sigh. "Coffee."

It sounded like a copout, but she decided that it was too early in the morning to fight him on it. "Yeah," she forced a laugh. "Love me some caffeine."

"Yeah." She could tell Sam knew he hadn't fooled her, and there was a long pause between them.

"Sammy?"

"Hm?" He turned his head to look over at her.

"Dean told me that in college your girlfriend, Jess, died," she began carefully, not meeting his eyes. "I guess I was just wondering…how – what it was like…for you, when you lost her, I mean."

He let out a heavy sigh and stared at the ceiling. When he didn't respond for a moment, Emily snuck a glance at him. "Jess was…Jess was complicated," he finally began. "I wasn't at the point yet where I could say that I loved her, but I think I was getting pretty close. We weren't serious enough for her to know about the hunting, even though the thought of telling her had crossed my mind more than once. After she was killed…I remember getting really angry. At myself, at the demon that did it…and I wanted revenge. But I felt really guilty, too, like there was something I could've done to stop it. I know I couldn't, but that just seemed to add to the anger.

"I remember I was so exhausted all the time, but I was so determined to kill the bastard that had murdered her that I never really slept more than three or four hours a night for a long time. And when I did sleep, I always had nightmares about her." He paused, collecting himself. "I guess, over time, everything sort of faded. When we killed the demon, we let out hundreds of demons in the process, so we focused on hunting those down. Then everything escalated fairly quickly to the apocalypse, and we were so distracted with that… I guess the distractions helped, in a way. I never dealt with her death in a _healthy_ way, and I never really got over it. But the memories and the emotions became muted as time went on, and I started to have days where I wouldn't think about her constantly. Now, I rarely do."

Emily jumped when his hand covered hers, and she turned her head to look up at him. "You can choose not to forget, but the pain will fade over time. Just…promise me you won't do anything stupid, 'cause I know that's not what Balthazar would've wanted for you."

"Sam?" Her voice was shaky with a thick undertone of fear and guilt.

"Yeah?" His concerned, giant brown eyes stared down at her.

"I…" she hesitated. "Is it bad that I was thinking of Gabriel, and not Balthazar?"

He paused, shocked at her confession. "N-no, it's not bad. I…I don't know much about the grieving process, but I'm sure it could be normal."

"What are we supposed to do, Sam?"

"I...what do you mean?"

"You said, after Jess, you had distractions, like the apocalypse. What do I have?"

His grip tightened around her hand as he spoke. "We are gonna fight these Leviathans, and get you out of that brace. And Gabriel is coming back; he told you himself that he's not dead."

"That could be years, Sam, and–"

"I'll wait with you." She looked up at him with big eyes. "I'm not going anywhere. And you have to promise me that you won't either."

She carefully studied his face before she eventually found herself telling him, "Promise."


	81. Chapter 81

**_Four years ago cont._**

It was the birds that woke her the next morning and Gabriel's heartbeat resounding in her head that threatened to lull her back to sleep. She sighed, nestling further into Gabriel's chest as her eyes fluttered open.

"Morning, sweetheart," the archangel's voice was soft in her ear.

She began to panic slightly as she realized the only color she could see was gold, but the archangel quickly wrapped an arm around her waist, calming her down. "It' just me," he told her, separating his wings slightly so she could see a strip of grey-blue sky.

"Oh," she mumbled, relaxing against him again. "Why…"

"It's drizzling out," he said quietly, "and I didn't want you getting cold."

"What about you?" she asked, playing with the zipper on his jacket.

"Don't worry about me."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "But you're in the rain. Aren't you getting soaked?"

"Young lady, I am an Angel of the Lord," he said with sarcastic haughtiness. "I can just zap myself dry."

Her laughter was muffled in his shirt, and she could feel his chest move as he chuckled. As they quieted, her stomach gave a ferocious grumble, breaking the mood. "You hungry?" Gabriel asked, underlying tone of amusement in his voice.

"A little," she admitted shyly.

"You want to go get something to eat?" he asked.

"I don't want to leave, though. It's nice here."

"We don't have to leave," he reminded her. "C'mere, look."

He slowly helped her to sit up, elevating his wings so that he remained an effective umbrella. Dramatically raising his hands before them, Gabriel proclaimed, "Angel powers, activate!"

A red and white checkered blanket was suddenly laid beneath them, and three courses of tantalizing breakfast food appeared on the fabric. "Tada!" he smiled triumphantly.

Emily laughed, immediately reaching for a chocolate-chip pancake. "You're tha dest," she mumbled, mouth full of fluffy goodness.

"Of course I am," Gabriel preened, taking a slice of quiche for himself.

She leaned on his shoulder as she ripped bits of pancake off with her teeth, enjoying the sensation of the warm chocolate melting on her tongue. An idea struck her as she finished her third pancake, and she slipped out of her flannel over shirt, revealing a purple singlet underneath. Through the years, Gabriel had helped her design an undershirt which would allow her wings to materialize without ripping through the shirt, while at the same time look semi-normal. She stretched one of her wings beneath Gabriel's to stretch it over his head, preventing his hair from soaking through more than it already had.

He looked down at her, slightly annoyed. "I told you, I'll be fine. Angel powers, remember?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you have to go through the _feeling _of being wet without having fun."

"Fun?" he raised an eyebrow, prompting her to elaborate.

"Yeah, fun. You know, dancing in the rain, stuff like that," she answered with a nonchalant shrug.

A dangerous twinkle suddenly appeared in Gabriel's eye, and the food before them vanished as Gabriel pulled her to her feet. She tied her flannel tightly around her waist before looking up at him, expecting everything.

She could feel the misty rain begin to dampen her hair, and her shirt began to stick to her skin. Now that the aroma of food was gone, she could smell the richness of the earth beneath their feet and practically feel the forest humming around them.

He gently touched her nose, then carefully moved back three steps. "Tag, you're it," he quietly dared her.

She smirked. "There are rules, you know?"

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, his smile faltering. "Rules?"

"Rain tag. No shoes."

A cheeky grin spread across his face once more, and he quickly kicked off his boots, carelessly tossing them to the side. Emily quickly did the same, reveling at the felling of soft dewy grass beneath her feet.

Her eyes glanced back up at the archangel. Her original plan was to tag him while he was distracted, but the sight before her took he breath away.

Gabriel had his face raised to the sky, the water slowly pushing his hair away from his face. His toes were curling in the grass, and she knew he loved the feel of the spongy earth below him. The six great wings behind him had involuntarily spread, letting the mist swirl gently around the golden feathers. She slowly made her way to him, careful not to make a sound. Her hand gently brushed his before she backed up toward the tree-line. His head slowly leveled to meet her eyes, vaguely surprised at how far away she was. "You're it," she whispered.

A gentle smile lit up his face, and he stared at her for a moment. "Am it?" The smile transformed into the familiar smirk she knew, and he was suddenly barreling toward her. She shrieked in delight, sprinting through the trees, attempting to lose him. A quick glance behind her revealed that he was steading gaining.

With an almighty thrust of her wings, she was airborne, past the topmost branches of the trees, a manic laughter bubbling from her gut. The sudden maneuver took Gabriel by surprise, but he quickly recovered, propelling himself into the air after her.

He trailed behind her, watching her flit through the air, and her wings cut through the mist, creating glistening streams of water behind her. She eventually pulled away from him, darting up through the cloud layer. An involuntary shiver traveled up her back as her as he clothes were immediately soaked through.

As she broke through the top of the could layer, a dark leather jacket immediately invaded her vision, and a searing pain shot up her arm. She jumped back as best she could, desperately trying to get away from the threat. This was a different angel from yesterday, but he wore the same dark clothes. His blade was by his side, stained with her blood.

In a moment, Gabriel burst through the cloud layer, his titanic wings displayed threatingly before the angel, shielding Emily from attack. They had become translucent again, the faint electric buzz congregating between his feathers. As if the archangel had called for him, Balthazar was suddenly beside him, furiously brandishing his angel blade. "Get her out of here."

Gabriel looked, over at him, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to understand Balthazar's motives through the haze of anger. "We both know you can hide her better than I," the angel quickly told him. "Go!"

The archangel hesitated, before his blade suddenly disappeared. He was by her side faster than she was able to see, grasping her hand and transporting her out of the country.


	82. Chapter 82

**_Four years ago cont._**

She kept her eyes closed as she felt herself land in one place, only for Gabriel to disapprove and bring them somewhere else the next instant. When he finally seemed content their location, she opened her eyes to see what looked like a midevel fortress built into the foot of an enormous mountain. "_The Hobbit_ much?" she muttered, staring up at the vast wall of solid brick before her. Gabriel quickly pulled her toward the dark oak door towering above them, and she reluctantly followed, wanting to take in the view.

As they stepped into the entrance hall, hundreds of torches blazed to life, illuminating the centuries old tunnels that wove through the mountain. "Stay here," the archangel told her, glancing warily around the space. She watched him step back outside, and his golden feathers seemed duller than normal with the thick cloud cover overhead. He disappeared suddenly, only to return the next moment with something in his arms. This happened several times until he had built up a shrine in front of the old fortress, various oddities of spell work spread about the table. With a flick of his wrist, the thick candles flared to life, and he began chanting something half in Enochian and half in a language she couldn't recognize.

A translucent wall of blue light suddenly flared over the medieval structure separating her from Gabriel before it disappeared almost immediately, prompting her to wonder if she had seen it at all. As he finished the spell, the ingredients on the table burst into a bright blue flame that quickly died down, leaving the ritual bowl empty. The table immediately disappeared, and the archangel made his way back over to the entrance of the fortress. "Hold out your arm."

She reached out to him, past where the blue wall of light had been, and he took her hand in his before walking inside to meet her. "What did you do?"

"Protection spell," he answered, walking down one of the dimply lit corridors. She ran to catch up as he continued to explain, "The only way a living thing on the outside can get in is if another living being already on the inside accepts them. There has to be contact between the being outside and the one inside in order to pass through the spell, so if a third being on the outside grabs ahold of the one trying to get in, that third being won't be accepted because there is no direct contact between it and the being originally inside. Understand?"

"Yeah," she answered him quickly. "So if Balthazar's fighting that angel and he tries to get in, we can bring him in, and be safe from the angel."

"Exactly." Gabriel was still not looking at her, searching the halls for something.

"Where are we going?"

He didn't answer her, only continued to move forward, navigating through the maze of passageways as if he knew them as intimately as his own home. She kept pace with him as best she could, occasionally running to catch up with his long strides. Gabriel suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, and she almost ran into him, dodging to the side at the last second. "What–"

"Balthazar is calling. Stay here."

She opened her mouth to respond to him, only for him to disappear back to the entrance to accept Balthazar. Running a hand over her face, she sighed, moving to lean against the damp stone wall. There was a sudden rustling sound echoing from the left corridor, and she jumped grabbing the knife she always carried on her leg, defensively holding it before her. The sound quickly evolved into an eerie scratching, and his slowly grew louder, moving toward her. She felt her hands grow clammy as her heart rate increased.

A scream caught in her throat as a hand rested on her shoulder, and she spun around to face her attacker, blade slashing toward him. Balthazar frowned down at her, his eyes alert with worry.

"Oh, God, it's you," she breathed, quickly moving to wrap his arms around him.

"Why do you have your knife out, darling?" he asked, comfortingly running a hand over her hair.

"I-I thought I heard something down the hall," she told him, tensing in fear as she focused on the sound again. It had advanced even further, and she felt like it was just around the corner.

Balthazar moved in front of her, confidently rounding the corner. He looked over at her, trying not to smile, "It's just a mouse, love."

She stared at him for a moment, unable to comprehend that she had just terrified herself over a rat when she had been raised to hunt the things of the night that feed off humanity. Her head thudded against the stone behind her as she stared up at the ceiling.

"You're bleeding."

Emily looked down at her arm. There was a large gash from the other angel's blade that she had forgotten about in the adrenaline rush. As she focused on it, the pain slowly came back to her. "The angel…I forgot," she told him.

"Gabriel didn't notice?" She shook her head as Balthazar made his way back toward her. The angel sighed in frustration, laying a hand against her shoulder. She could feel her skin knit together under his touch, and her arm was suddenly cleaned of blood. "I suppose he's gotten you all worked up as well."

"I'm fine," she insisted, putting her knife back in its sheath.

He regarded her carefully for a moment before reaching out a hand to her. She took it without hesitation, and he said, "Let me show you the more modernized section. Gabriel hasn't bothered to show you, I assume?"

She shook her head, trying to will her heartbeat to slow down. Balthazar led her down the right corridor towards a curving staircase that descended past the stone floor. The torches seemed to grow brighter as the continued until Balthazar finally stopped by a door of the same dark oak wood. Pulling the ancient door open, he ushered her inside.

The sight that greeted her took her completely by surprise. Behind the door was a normal, modern sitting area with a giant couch and a flat screen TV, although she doubted if there would be reception beneath the mountain. A large kitchen was attached to the living area, as well as a bathroom complete with a shower. "And the water pressure is _really_ good down here," Balthazar commented. A short hallway off the kitchen led to a bedroom with a queen-sized bed and another television set.

"What the hell is this place?" she asked him.

"It was built in Europe's dark ages by a…clan. They were being hunted, and the walls have been built around talismans and protective sigils. The entire complex is actually a sigil itself," he told her.

"You're kidding! How is that possible?"

"The tunnels stretch for miles, creating the sigil beneath the mountain. Anything above or beneath the symbol is protected. When Gabriel added the warding outside, he was just being precautious. It wasn't really necessary."

She hesitated, unsure of whether or not she wanted to know the answer to her question, "And…why exactly to I need protection? Why was that angel…"

He looked down at her, as if conflicted on what to do. "Why don't you sit down, and I'll get you a cup of tea."


	83. Chapter 83

**_Four years ago cont._**

_As he walked off into the kitchen, she frowned, trying to figure out what he was attempting to hide. Nevertheless, she sat where he had told her in time for him to gently place a steaming mug of tea in her hands. "Balthy, what's going on?"_

_"I ca–" he sighed, dropping down into an armchair and running his hands over his face. "I can't give you any details, darling, but… Look, Gabriel and I have been keeping them off your track for years, we just…" He sighed. "We got cocky. Thought they were gone. I'm sorry, love, I really am. I didn't think…"_

_Gabriel had suddenly appeared in the corner of the room, sharp eyes glancing over every surface as if to ensure nothing was hiding in the corners. "Gabriel," Balthazar spoke. The archangel didn't respond, only moved through each room, checking for any signs of life. "Would you sit down?!"_

_Their eyes met across the room, and she swore that if looks could kill, Balthazar would be liquefied and dripping onto the carpet. Despite the challenging glare, the angel continued to speak, "For Pete's sake, you didn't even see that Emily was bleeding!"_

_Gabriel's eyes locked onto hers, and she cowered in her seat. "Well she's not now," Balthazar rolled his eyes. "Look, brother, you need to calm down. This is the safest place in the universe for her."_

_"Don't tell me to calm down," Gabriel's voice was dangerously low. "You of all people should know…"_

_Balthazar's gaze darkened at the unspoken accusation, and Emily began to panic, sensing the beginning of a fight. She stared down at her swirling tea, trying desperately to will away the oncoming panic attack as her hands began to tremble. She flinched as Gabriel sat down beside her, and his hand moved to rest on her thigh. She could feel the adrenaline ebb away at his touch, and her hands stilled. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, hastily taking a sip of tea to shut herself up. _

_"It's not you, love," Balthazar spoke up immediately. "We screwed up."_

_When she spoke, it was barely a whisper. "I wanna go home."_

_Her confession was met with silence. "I'm sorry," she said, jumping off the couch to place her tea on the table, unwilling to meet their eyes. She fled to the bedroom Balthazar had showed her earlier, shutting the door behind her. He eyes began to sting as she remembered the familiar sent of the Impala and the loving gazes of her brothers…how Dean was always trying to be their mother, making sure Sam never went hungry…how her little Sam feared he would never be as tall as Dean, so she started calling him Gigantor…how the three of them would crowd together in the same bed after a vicious hunt when John was at the nearest bar getting black-out-drunk. _

_She sank to the floor, her back pressed against the door as she held in the sobs, salty tears soaking her cheeks. She didn't hear the argument the two angels were having over whether or not it was a mistake to allow her to become separated from her charges, over whether or not it might kill her, over whether or not they could properly protect her. She didn't know the reason she nodded off instead of having a panic attach was the fact that Gabriel abruptly cut off the conversation to crouch by the bedroom door, hands pressed to the wood, to send her a wave of fatigue so she wouldn't have to be in pain. She didn't understand how much it pained them both to see her like this, and she didn't notice the sigil Gabriel had seared on her chest for protection. _

**_Now_**

The sheets were drenched in sweat when she jerked awake, trying to catch her breath.

"Emily?"

_Sam_. She launched herself at him, propelling them both back into the pillows with an insecure bear hug.

"I'm right here, baby. Right here," Sam crooned as she lost control, sobbing quietly into his shoulder. He hand a hand through her hair, and she shivered, remembering the night Gabriel had done the same.

It's been four weeks since the Leviathan incident in the hospital, and Sam had been getting cabin fever, searching every newspaper he could get his hands on for a case. He had planned to leave before dawn that morning for what he was sure was a simple salt-and-burn, but he hesitated now after seeing Emily like this.

"Pen," she choked, pushing herself off of him.

"What?" he muttered, looking down at her.

"Pen," she aggressively whipped at her eyes.

Sam quickly glanced over at the bedside table, all the while trying to console her. "Okay, okay. Here," he handed her a black sharpie.

She snatched it from his hand before pushing him into the pillows and urgently pulling up his shirt. "Em, what–"

He stopped as a tear hit his stomach and her fingers pressed against the center of his chest. When she found exactly where is heart was, she hastily began drawing a series of sigils in a circle, each one connected and intertwined. Sam watched her with an apprehensive expression as she worked, her hand trembling slightly.

After a good proportion of Sam's chest had been covered in ink, she capped the sharpie, staring down at her work. "You okay, Emmy?"

Her breath hitched and her eyes flickered up to meet his. He was shocked at how wide her eyes were, the panic racing through her chest evident in her features. He carefully reached up toward her, one hand cupping her cheek and one reassuringly resting on her shoulder. "Baby, what's going on?"

She made a choked sound as she tried to tell him. "I…you… you c-can't…they…" She dropped the sharpie on the bed, jumping off Sam before he could react and dodging out the door. Snagging the keys from Dean's jacket pocket, she pushed her was out the door. The key fumbled in the truck a moment before she was able to swing it open, lifting the fake floor to reveal their arsenal of weapons. The silver archangel blade from the warehouse with Castiel and Raphael was sitting on top of the miscellaneous pile of guns and states, shining dully in the moonlight.

"Emily."

Sam was standing on the steps of the cabin, hair standing on end, looking from the blade to his sister. When she addressed him, her voice was barely a whisper. "I'm not gonna kill myself, Sammy. I promise. You need to get inside."

"What's go–"

She frantically held up her hands, silencing him. "Get inside," she hissed. Glancing warily around at the trees, she quickly grabbed the blade from the trunk before quietly closing it and yanking out the key.

Sam had refused to go in without her, so she found herself pushing him inside, archangel blade held tightly in one hand. She triple locked the door behind them, handing the blade to Sam. "Go get Dean."

"What the hell–"

"Get. Dean," she growled, staring him down until he finally moved down the hall to wake his brother. She found a marker in the kitchen drawer, and quickly began drawing sigils on the walls.

"Princess, what the hell's going on?" Dean's voice groggily asked her from the doorway. Immediately abandoning the half completed warding on the wall, she jumped at Dean, pulling his shirt over his chest. "Woah, woah, what the hell?!"

Sam sighed, holding Dean's shirt so Emily could find his heart. "Just go with it, man. I have no idea what's going on."

She drew the same sigils that she had on Sam onto Dean's chest, directly above his heart. In a couple minutes she had finished, moving back to the wall, picking up exactly where she had left off. "Get Bobby. Find his heart and – never mind, I'll do it. Just get him up."

Sam moved off, leaving a flustered Dean standing in the center of the room completely unsure of what to do. "Princess…you gonna talk to me."

The sharpie continued its dance across the wall. It was a few moments before Emily spoke, back to him. "I…Bobby can explain." He was stunned at how emotional she sounded.

Before Dean could come up with a response, Bobby swiftly walked into the room, the striped pajama pants the only indication he had been sleeping. "Are the coming?" he asked gruffly.

Swallowing back a sob, she nodded, moving over to him sharpie in hand. "No need for that," Bobby told her. "I got 'em tattooed a while back."

Emily narrowed her eyes, glaring up at him. "Exactly?"

He nodded. "Perfectly. Got another marker?"

She shook her head, moving back to the wall. "Just…explain to them."

"You sure?"

She froze, head resting against the wall. "Yeah," her voice was barely a whisper. The marker slowly rose to the wall again, and he voice was slightly more confident when she said, "I'm sure, Bobby."

Bobby reluctantly sighed, "Whatever you say, kid."


	84. Chapter 84

"Bobby, what the hell is going on?" Dean asked, fed up with the situation. "And why the hell does Sam have Raphael's blade?!"

"An angel blade's one of the only things that can kill them," Bobby said. "Have you boys got any more?"

"Yeah, I…I think so. I think we have about five, not including this one," Sam spoke up.

"Good," Bobby nodded. "Go get 'em, and when you come back I'll explain."

"No." Emily capped her sharpie, spinning around to face them. "Give me the blade; I'll go."

"Em–"

"I'm much harder to get, Bobby, you know that. And they won't be aiming to kill me. We still have about six and a half minutes anyway," she argued.

As she reached out to her brother, Sam frowned, refusing to give her the blade. "Damit, Sam, we're losing time!"

Not bothering to wait for a response, she snatched the blade from his hand with shaking fingers, and moves toward the door, keys in her pocket. "You can't just go out there alone!" Dean shouted.

"Be careful. If anything happens to you, so help me God…" Bobby growled, silencing the older Winchester.

She nodded, unchaining the last lock on the door before swiftly making her way to the car. It took a moment for her shaking hands to unlock the trunk, and by the time she revealed the weapons, her heart was threatening to explode from her body. She jumped at a hand on her shoulder, only to find a grim looking Dean staring down at her.

Without a word, he grabbed four of the blades from the trunk, leaving one for her so she had a spare hand to lock the trunk again. As she followed him up the front steps, she could feel them grow closer, and her heart skipped in fear. She pushed him forward until she was once again able to lock the door behind them.

Dropping the normal angel blade on the table, she uncapped the sharpie, moving to the wall, keeping the archangel blade in hand. "Okay, Bobby, what's going on?" Dean asked.

She continued to draw at a furious pace as Bobby described her first encounter with the dark angel, Gabriel and Balthazar at her side. "They're bounty hunters," he said. "During the Dark Ages, the guardians revolted against the supernaturally wealthy family who they had served for centuries. The guardians, however, didn't have a leader strong enough to bring them all together, and the armies of the wealthy families were much too large for them to fight off. Eventually, the majority of the population was killed, and a few of who were left decided that it would be best to renounce the revolution and beg mercy from the families they served. But there were some that survived, scattered across the world, finding each other after the massacre. While they regrouped, the largest families created the bounty hunters to track down the remaining guardians."

"Wait a second, you said _created_?" Sam asked, nervously clenching the blade in his fist.

"Yeah, created. They captured angels and guardian, crossbreeding them with other monsters like demons and werewolves to weed out all the flaws and make them unbelievably stronger. The only thing that can kill them is an angel blade."

"What about the warding?" Dean asked.

"The sigil at the center of your chest, the one that the rest revolve around, prevents possession, and a couple others prevent poison, transformation, hallucinations, and death."

"Death?" Sam's eyebrows shot up.

"They can rip your heart out, but there's a twenty-four hour window to get everything reattached and working and you'll be fine. As for everything on the walls, it creates a protective seal around the house so that they can't force their way in or burn it down."

"Bobby…how do you know all this stuff about the history?" Emily had stopped sometime in the middle of Bobby's speech, as the information was completely new to her.

"Balthazar told me the time you came home after the incident with the bounty hunters. He seemed a bit…shaken up about it," he said. There was a sudden ear splitting screech outside, and Emily jumped, fanatically scribbling on the wall. "You ain't done yet?!" Bobby shouted at her.

She felt like flipping him off, but she continued working as the screeching slowly grew closer to the door until, finally, the last line of ink connected, and a wave of blue light fell over the house, dissipating through the air. The piercing screeches immediately ceased, leaving an uncomfortable ringing their ears as the warily glanced out the windows. Heartbeat deafening in her ears, she carefully stepped backward toward her brothers until she hit Sam's chest, and his arm protectively wrapped around her waist.

It was two full minutes until the idea that they could be surrounding the house hit her. "_Shit_," she muttered, spinning around just in time to catch a glimpse of pale skin and black leather one of the windows facing the woods behind the house. "We're surrounded," she muttered. "At least four…maybe five."

She took a deep, shuddering breath, rolling her shoulders and willing away her fear. Protecting them was what she was born for. The muscle memory of John and Gabriel's training took over, and she pulled away from Sam, grabbing a second angel blade in her free hand. "I'll be right back," she whispered.

"Where the hell are you going?" Dean hissed, grabbing her arm as she walked past.

"I can't fight in this shirt. One minute, Dean, and I'll be right back." He reluctantly loosened his grip, and she quickly made her way to Sam's bedroom to shuffle through her go-bag. She threw on the singlet Gabriel had crafted for her, just as something hit the barrier, shaking the house.

She stepped back into the living room, her wings arched dangerously behind her, a blade in each hand. The room shook again as a bounty hunter hit the protective wall, knocking a lamp over to shatter on the floor. "A couple more hits and the warding's going to fail," she muttered, eyes flashing to the windows.

"Em, please tell me you have some protective stuff on you," Sam asked anxiously. "I never saw you draw anything."

"Mine's different," she quietly replied, glancing around the room. "I'll be fine."

A third hit knocked the television off its stand, and the fourth left them standing back to back in the center of the room, ill-prepared for the threat they now faced. "One more," her voice shook.

Four windows simultaneously shattered, and four bounty hunters leaped into the house, elegantly landing among the glass. This was the closest Emily had ever been to one of the creatures, and she was now able to make out the details of their features. The wings that stretched behind them weren't angelic as she had originally thought. Instead, the appendages only gave the illusion of having feathers when, in reality, the thick, colored skin was connected across the entire expanse of the wings. Their faces were gaunt, and the pale skin flaked away in many places, leaving grotesque pink sores. Thin lips stretched over sharpened, yellow teeth in stark contrast to the sickly hue of their skin. She saw now that the dark leather jackets and black pants that matched equally dark, greasy hair only allowed them to appear more human, as the skin on their hands was not only flaking, but the sores had evolved to form scales, offering a layer of protection.

There was a moment of tense silence as no one dared to breath while the creatures simply stared up at them from their crouched positions. Emily watched in horror as a bright red tongue slowly flicked out from between cracked lips, leaving a trail of crimson liquid that she quickly realized was blood. Before anyone had a chance to react, they pounced with incredible speed, and the fight had begun.


	85. Chapter 85

Sam was immediately thrown across the room where he landed with a sickening thump against the brick wall. One of the creatures advanced on him, pulling a curved, serrated blade from its belt. The bounty hunter was a blur as it raced toward the younger Winchester, and it was sheer luck that Sam was able to lift the angel blade enough to pierce its heart. With a deafening shriek, the creature went limp, dark, maroon blood dripping down the angel blade.

Meanwhile, Bobby had been pinned to the floor, wrestling with the second bounty hunter. He managed to pull the pistol from his waistband in the fray, quickly shooting it in the head. The creature froze on top of him for a second, piercing snake-like eyes glazed over, before it seemed to suddenly return, spitting the wasted bullet out with an evil smirk. In an instant, its teeth were ripping a chunk from Bobby's arm, and it raised its head, letting the chunk of flesh drop down its throat, leaving a crimson stain dripping down its chin. Through the haze of pain, Bobby noticed it was distracted, and he was somehow able to gather enough strength to viciously stab it through the heart, twisting the blade to cause as much damage as possible. It immediately went limp, collapsing on top of the old man.

When they had first shattered the windows, the third freak of nature grabbed Dean, violently pushing him through the wall separating the living room and kitchen, coating them both in a layer of drywall dust. The bounty hunter leaned over the dazed Winchester lying prone on the floor, it's dry, sandpaper tongue slowly licking a stripe the back of his neck. Dean groaned, wincing as he tried to fight back, only to have the creature deafeningly screech at him before lifting its terrifying sword into the air. And angel blade suddenly pierced through its chest, and the creature seized up, back arching, before it collapsed, threatening to suffocate the older Winchester. Before Dean could gather the strength to push it off, the pressure was gone, and Sam was standing over him. One of his shoulders was sitting at an unnaturally low angle, but Sam otherwise appeared to be fine. Dean, however, most likely had a concussion and a score of new bruises.

Amidst the turmoil around her, Emily faced off the fourth bounty hunter, the two blades glinting ominously in her hands. The creature savagely ripped its jagged blade from the worn belt, lunging toward its prey. Her two blades shot up to block the strike, and a well-placed kick had the thing reeling away from her, hissing in pain. Before she had a chance to advance on it, the front door exploded, lodging itself in the hole that the bounty hunter fighting Dean had created. The fourth creature remained crouched on the floor, watching the tall, shadowy figure in the entrance.

By now, Bobby had gotten to his feet, clutching at the hole in his arm with an old bandana. Sam was helping Dean through the kitchen doorway, struggling to keep his older brother standing upright while favoring his dislocated shoulder.

As the dark figure moved into the light, the metal clank of its boots resounded through the room with every step, sending a spark of terror down Emily's spine. This creature was different than the others, more human. Its skin was still pale, but not flaking, and the slips of its pupils weren't as exaggerated. Its hair was more feathery, the dark ends falling around its ears. It had a masculine build, wider and much taller than the others.

Taking advantage the distraction, Bobby quickly stabbed the fourth bounty hunter in the back, piercing it's heart. As, its dying shriek stuttered out, the creature in the doorway started down at his fallen comrade, barely moving a muscle. His eyes calculatingly flickered up to Bobby's, only to frown slightly, as though he was working something out in his head.

A grin suddenly split his face, revealing yellow, sharpened teeth, stained red in some areas. "Warding against possession," he laughed. His voice was like sandpaper, as if it had been years since he spoke. "Clever," he paused, tilting his head to the side, regarding all three men carefully. "And hallucinations…transformations," he muttered.

His gaze turned to Emily, letting the science in the room thicken for a moment. "Unevolved guardian, twenty-nine years of age, female, brown hair, brown eyes, wholly unremarkable, and yet…somehow catches the eye of an archangel, avoids us for years, and is able to dispatch four of my grunts in less than two minutes. Quite a paradox, really," he said, his rough voice making her cringe.

"What are you?" she asked, her voice unwavering. "Clearly you're different."

"First generation," he replied haughtily, swiftly pulling forward a blade from the strap across his back. It was similar to the others, but the teeth of this blade were glistening silver, as if each shard was somehow individually stuck in the dull steel. "The birthright has its perks," he croaked, tilting his blade so that the silver shone brightly in the lamplight. "You see," he grinned maliciously, taking an echoing step forward, "these blades are meant to _kill_. Each tooth a piece of Lucifer's archangel blade."

Swallowing down her terror, she asked, "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Contrary to what you might believe, I do not have orders to take you back alive," he hissed, wicked grin growing as he took another step forward.

Bobby took a step towards Emily, and the bounty hunter immediately threw all three men across the room, slamming them into the brick wall with a flick of his wrist. "Now," he hissed, turning his gaze back to her, "shall I give you the opportunity to have your last dance?"

He lunged forward in an instant, almost faster than she was able to track. She was barely able to get her blades up in time to block his strike, and the force behind his blade sent a vibration up both her arms, almost causing her to drop her weapons. The terror must have shown in her eyes, as his smirk grew, and the pressure he was exerting doubled.

Knowing she would not be able to last in a contest of strength, she flipped backwards, using the creature's momentum against himself, and a powerful kick to its throat had the creature flipping in midair to crumble against the wall. Emily was quick to get to her feet, facing the bounty hunter as it pushed itself off the floor. "Training from the archangel?" it asked, cracking its neck into place. A thin, pale tongue flicked out to taste the blood from his split lip, but that only seemed to encourage him, as his smirk began to spread again. "You made me bleed."

He lunged forward, blade aimed for her side. His free arm pinned one of her hands above her head, spinning them both to slam her body into the brick wall, his blade sinking into her gut. She shuddered, as sudden feeling of cold washing over her as the bounty hunter smiled, watching the life fade from her eyes.

Raphael's archangel blade suddenly pierced the bounty hunter's chest, and all hints of joy faded from his face. "That's right, bitch," she whispered, blood pooling at the side of her mouth. "If I go, I'm taking you with me."

The bounty hunter fell onto the carpet with a thud, eyes dull and glazed over.

Emily hung her head as a wave of pain flared from her abdomen, her hands dropping the angel blades with a clang, instead clutching at where the blade was still imbedded in her body. She could feel that there was no power rushing to heal her now as it had in the past, only the growing cold that seemed to seep from the wound. She sank to the ground beside the fallen corpse, struggling to breathe properly.

"Em? Princess?" Her vision was blurry as she tried to make out the figure looming above her. "Y-you can heal, right?" She didn't think that she had ever heard her older brother this scared.

"Emily? Oh God," Sam choked, stumbling out of her line of vision as quickly as he had entered it. "Bobby, she–" Then there was the sound of him retching onto the kitchen floor.

But Dean had barely paid any attention to his brother, moving to cradle her head in his lap. "You're gonna get through this, baby, I swear to God. Bobby's calling 911 now, okay. You just stay with me, princess."

She tried to swallow, only to choke on blood. "Just breathe, princess, please. Just focus on breathing. I'm right here, baby. You can't leave me now, princess. Please. Not when I just found you. I need you to get through this. You're going to be okay. I–"

Dean's voice suddenly cut off, and she could feel him lean back slightly. Someone else was looming over her now, and a warm hand was gently placed on her ribs. She blinked furiously, trying to make out who was leaning over her. "Can you help her?" Dean's broken voice pleaded.

She could feel a tear hit her skin, where her shirt had ripped during the fight. Breathing was becoming increasingly harder, and she could barely feel the pain anymore. "G…Gabriel?" she choked, struggling to keep her eyes open.

The thumb of the hand on her abdomen reassuringly rubbed small circles into her skin, and a ghostly feeling of lips against her forehead had her closing her eyes. The last thing she could feel was that warm hand against her skin as the cold crept into her chest and her world spun into darkness.

* * *

**_Protecting the __Winchesters_ will be continued in part 2, _Protecting Gabriel._**


End file.
